


Felicity

by Black96



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Modded Skyrim, author has many regrets and this is one of them, butchered lore, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 72,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black96/pseuds/Black96
Summary: He was meant to die, his duty fulfilled at last, yet a mischievious god watching from afar had other plans.
Relationships: Dragon Slayer Ornstein/Female Dragonborn
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I'm going to regret posting this, but...oh, well, here I go...Enjoy.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: Skyrim belongs to Bethesda and Dark Souls to FromSoftware. 
> 
> Also, I use moded Skyrim (especially the clothes)in this story, just to clear any misunderstandings beforehand.

He lost, dropping to his knees and falling to the ground, ashamed by his defeat, wounds bleeding heavily underneath his golden armor. His consciousness was beginning to fade, but he still struggled to stay awake, fight through the pain, until… He felt the hammer hit him full force, his lightning power stolen by his companion. The pain was unbearable, his breath getting heavier, pulse growing wild in a last attempt at survival. This was how it was supposed to end. He knew that and prepared himself for this day ever since he accepted the task of guarding the cathedral along with the princess inside. And yet…he feared death, the cold hands that reached out to him from the darkness that was invading his vision. He had too many regrets, too many things that he still wanted to do. Oh, Lord Gwyn! He didn’t want to die just yet!

A laugh began to ring in his ears, soft at first but growing louder and creepier as seconds passed by.

“It’s your lucky day, kitty cat!” a voice said, and before Ornstein could realize what was going on, he was falling, and everything turned black.

✠♦✠

Someone called out to him, his entire body aching, the pain hard to bear. He was alive, the realization hitting him strongly, filling him with both euphoria and confusion, but neither lasted for too long. So weak and cold. He tried to open his eyes, the light invading his vision, blinding him. The person kept on calling out to him, but he couldn’t answer, sinking into the darkness once more, wondering if he would wake up this time as well.


	2. Ice Queen

A foul stench filled his nostrils, waking him up, wounds stinging, and muscles numb. He opened his eyes, candlelight illuminating his surrounding, soft and heavy sheets caressing his skin. He looked around, vision adjusting steadily to the light, studying the room he was in. It was a simple bedroom, fire burning in a chimney on the left side, a chair and table covered in books and sheets of paper. Near the fireplace, there were three round containers, each hosting weapons, one with bows and arrows, one with swords and one with great swords, war hammers and battleaxes, blades shining in the dim light. On the other side of the room was a large doorless wardrobe, strange coats, dresses and clothing hanging in there, drawers on the side overflowing with bags, gloves, helmets and other accessories, above the closet, being stored sheets of different colors. His spear and armor were nowhere to be seen. He could also see shields handing on the walls, some bearing the symbols of what he assumed must have been towns or courts, none that he could recognize though. One in particular caught his attention, a black wolf staring back at him from a scarlet background. He tore his eyes off it, memories that were once a source of happiness and joy, now bringing him too much sorrow. He looked at the desk in front, noticing a bunch of notes that were too far to read, scrolls spread on the table along with more books and flowers.

He was lying on the only bed in there. His wounds had been treated, the smell of herbs still emanating from the bandages, and from a ceramic vessel placed on the nightstand nearby, linen strips soaking in the greenish water, but the foul stench from before was quickly drowning it with its despicable odor.

Soon, the slight sight of smoke began to fill the room as well, along with the screams of two women seemingly coming from downstairs.

“By the nine, Gwen! What have you done here?!”

“I tried to….Kya!”

His body immediately tensed up hearing that name. So different, yet so alike. Memories threatened to resurface, but he didn’t allow them. Whatever was going on down there seemed to be pretty bad and he couldn’t just stay there and do nothing, least it spread and consumed the room and him along with it. He tried to get up, but as soon as he attempted to move even a millimeter, pain shot through his entire body, pinning him back on the bed, teeth clenched to prevent a scream from escaping his throat.

“FO KRAH!”

Ornstein heard from downstairs, a slight chill following soon after, dancing in the air, trying to chase the other scents away , the smoke clearing up as if it hadn’t even been there. The two women had calmed down it seemed; the situation having been somehow solved. He heard them talk again, but he couldn’t distinguish the words, fever taking over him. Everything was becoming foggy or spinning around him, sweat dripping down his brow. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on something, but before he knew it, sleep claimed him again, throwing him in a vortex of painful dreams.

✠♦✠

“Ok. Now that’s out of the way.” Serana said, having returned after she threw away the weird, cursed concoction that Gwen claimed to be food.

It was quite amazing that someone who was so in love with Alchemy and was even talented in the field would be such a horrible cook. They were practically the same thing, apart from the fact that one could taste the concoction on the way, not only at the end. The house still reeked of the foul stench despite all the windows being opened, leaving the cold air of winter inside, the flames from the chimney unable to produce enough heat to match the growing chill. Serana didn’t necessarily care about it. Whether it was cold or not, it was all the same to her, one of the advantages of being an undead. However, her friend’s guest might not be so lucky. Speaking of the Daedra…

“What are you going to do with him?” the vampire asked Gwen who was on all fours, scrubbing the frozen floors with a knife, a bucket placed besides her, filled with thin shards of ice.

That was going to take a while, for sure.

“What do you mean?” she asked, not taking her eyes off her hands.

She had been fighting with a particular stubborn piece that refused to give in, no matter how much she tried to slip the blade underneath it and break it off. If she hadn’t spent so much gold on decorating the kitchen, she would shout it all to pieces and be done with it. Great time to run out of salt, in the middle of the night too!

“You know what I mean. That guy that’s sleeping in your bed right now.” Serana continued, arms crossed, and eyes locked on the Nord.

“Well, what else? I’m going to look after him until he heals up and then I’ll see to my duties as Dragonborn.” Gwen replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Serana facepalmed herself, a low groan escaping her lips. She loved Gwen like one would love their little sister, but sometimes she just wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her until whatever traces of common sense she had woke up from their slumber.

“Gwen, let me make this slow and easy.” the vampire continued, clasping her palm together and gesturing to the Nord that now was looking at her. “You know nothing about that man. He might harm you as soon as he wakes up and has the strength to move. He’s not even human from what I can tell!”

Or anything known to her for that matter and that was Serana’s biggest concern. He did not have the scent of beasts or giants, nor that of the Daedra, leaving his origins a mystery. There were enough dangers in Skyrim already and her friend always managed to somehow get herself right in the middle of them, much to the vampire’s dismay. She didn’t want Gwen to get hurt, afraid to not lose her. It nearly happened so many times, and it was never a good experience, never being able to get used to the fear and pain that followed those dark times. And yet…it seemed as if she never learned from it, always eager to jump right into the sabercat’s jaws if someone asked her to retrieve something from its den.

“Then I’ll answer in kind.” Gwen responded, shifting her gaze back to the layers of ice covering the kitchen floor. “I was glad he fit in the bed though. Given how tall he was, I was afraid I’d have to make him sleep in the hallway.” the Nord said, trying to lift the mood.

Serana tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it, and soon, her stern expression broke as a snarky comment came out of her mouth.

“Well, good thing you love sleeping in huge beds.”

“What can I say? I love having space to turn around when I sleep.” the Nord replied, a wide smile spreading across her face.

The two women laughed for a bit before they returned their attention back to the mess of ice they had to deal with. They began to work in silence, but both knew that the matter was far from over. Gwen might play it as if she was in control of the situation and didn’t fear anything, but in reality she was concerned, but not about the things Serana thought deserved her attention.

He wasn’t human, even she could see that, but she couldn’t just leave him there to die. His wounds were too severe, and the cold of the sea was too harsh for someone as weak as him to survive. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself knowing that she turned her back on someone in dire need. She took him to her house, near Dawnstar, and with the help of Serana, tended to his injuries. The vampire still teased her about her expression when she saw his face, once they managed to remove his helmet, Gwen still blushing at the memory. To say he was stunning would have been an understatement. What they thought was the plum of his helmet, turned out to be his own hair, the scarlet color shining beautifully underneath the candlelight, spreading over the pillow like rivers of fire, ready to devour the pure white color of the sheets. His features seemed delicate, yet firm, as if sculpted by the most devoted and talented of artists, his smooth skin resembling the best marble there was. She stared at him for a few good seconds. Was he a god?! How else could there be such a beautiful man out there?

Serana wasn’t as impressed with his looks as her friend, but she did find her reaction more than amusing.

“What happened, Gwen? Has the ice queen finally found the flame to melt her?” she teased with a Cheshire smile dancing on her lips.

The Nord snapped out of her thoughts before throwing her friend a mean glare. Did she really have to rub that incident in her face all the time? How was she supposed to know that guy was trying to court her?

She was tired after having fought a dragon and a bunch of bandits to retrieve some medallion they stole from a poor farmer. She just wanted to eat, go home and crash in the first bed she came across. Heck! Even the floor seemed like a comfy option given how tired she was. She could barely register the song the bard was playing, the meaning of the words eluding her grasp, as she faded in and out of consciousness. She was one step away from dropping her head in the bowl of stew and fall asleep right there when that warrior had to come and disturb her, talking so freaking loud until she couldn’t take it anymore and froze him with her ice-form shout. Turned out that guy was trying to flirt with her, offering her compliments and what not. Her ears perceiving nothing but nonsense that felt like nails on a chalkboard inciting her already burning ire. The rest of the night was a blur, she didn’t even know how she made it home. The next day, rumors were floating around about her being as cold as ice and hating the idea of love. And oh! How Serana loved to tease her about it!

“S-Shut up!” Gwen retaliated, and got to work on undoing his armor.

She gasped at the sight of all the wounds that adorned his body, scars that were made by large beasts judging by the depth and length of the dark tissue. Some of them were recognizable, for she, too, had some of them, on her back, on her side, injuries that not even her potions could convince to fade and be just a nasty memory of hard-fought battles. Dragon claws. That was what most of them were. A shiver ran through the Nord’s body, her fingers passing over a slash across his arm, across his well-defined muscles. There was another one, left by a sword this time, running over his chest, right where his golden armor had been damaged. Whoever did that must have been crazy strong judging by the depth that thankfully did not reach any vital organs, and the countless other dents that were littering the plates. The metal of that suit was hard and heavy from what Gwen could tell. She couldn’t put any of its pieces on the mannequins in her house, too big and heavy to fit. It was in need of repair too, but she didn’t know if there was any smith in all of Skyrim able to mend it as the work seemed foreign and it was too beautiful to be ruined by clumsy repairs. Could it even be returned to its former glory though?

He didn’t react at all while the women cleaned his wounds and applied the medicine-soaked bandages, too deep in his sleep, the fever burning his body like hellfire. Gwen was wondering if any of the potions she had could heal him. The thing with potions was that the one taking them needed to have some degree of energy in order for the effects to work well. Judging by his state, even if she gave him some of the best concoction she could prepare now, they could do little else apart from alleviating the fever a tiny bit, but healing his injuries was far from being a possibility. He needed to gain some strength before that. Which brought Serana and Gwen to the current situation where the Nord’s attempts at cooking a consistent meal nearly set th house ablaze and filled it with a pungent scent.

“Are you sure you haven’t fallen in love with him?” Serana teased again, as she tore another shard of ice off the floor.

“Yes. I’m sure.” Gwen replied, not turning to look at her, gripping the handle of the knife tighter. “A man needs more than looks to sweep me off my feet.” she continued, hitting the ice harder, breaking it to tiny little pieces. “Great! Stupid ice.” Gwen scoffed.

She threw the knife away from her and begun to gather the small shards. She still had plenty of septims, right? She could rebuild the kitchen. Why did she even have one anyway? She wasn’t even cooking that much. She always ate at inns or bought some food from the market to eat on the road. Merchants with whom she made trade were preparing her usual order by the time they caught wind of her being in town. She often pondered on the idea of learning how to make her own food, but something always came up, making her postpone it and leaving the cupboards and utensils to gather dust in her house, dust that of course, she had to clean every time. In the end, that room ended up being a waste of septims. 

“There’s nothing wrong with liking someone, Gwen.” Serana tried to calm her down, approaching her friend and helping her clean the mess. “Although…given your luck…I guess you should be more careful. I don’t want some bastard to take advantage of you.”

“Do you have that little faith in my judgement?” the Nord asked, looking visibly hurt by the vampire’s words.

“Yes.” Serana replied, staring right at her, not bothering to sugar-coat her opinion.

Gwen didn’t say anything after that, shifting her gaze to the floor and continuing to remove the ice, trying to fight back the tears. Was she really that naïve? Was wanting to help others truly that bad? She didn’t want to think about it, afraid of the answer. And even if it was true, could she really do it? Turn her back on someone when they came begging for help? N-no…not when she knew how it felt to…

Auch!

“Stupid ice!” Gwen growled through gritted teeth, crimson droplets falling on the floor with silent splashes, adding a little color to the pale tiles.

“Remember you paid a lot of hard-earned septims for this kitchen, Gwen.” Serana said, hoping her comment would prevent the Nord from shouting the room apart.

Dealing with a huge whole in the side of the house was the last thing they needed.


	3. Dreams and Nightmares

Vast fields of ash. Corpses littering the battlefield while beasts roamed the sky, their roars echoing in the distance, ringing in his ears, violent flames devouring everything that dared stand in their way. The scent of blood and burned flesh was overwhelming his senses, his empty stomach churning from the stench. His body was overheating beneath the silver armor, right arm lying limp by his side, the pain and burning sensation announcing him of the death that was waiting on the side, watching, threatening.

He yearned for water, something to clench the thirst in his dry throat, but even his tears were evaporating turning to steam before they got the chance to reach his lips. He tried to move, run away, but the weight of the hell he was in was pressing too heavily on his shoulders, feet refusing to give in to his commands, remaining there, frozen in place as fear and grief coursed through his blood, poisoning. 

They were dead. All of them. Only he was left behind….Only he…to watch it all…W-Why? Why him? He should have fallen with the others! It wasn’t fair! He was their captain! He was supposed to lead them to victory yet all he brought upon them was death! He should have been the first to fall, yet here he was, while they burned away before his eyes…WHY?!

He tried to scream, let it all out, the hatred, the pain, the sadness, the despair that he couldn’t bear anymore. But nothing came out, voice getting lost in the vortex of emotions, where nothing could escape its fury, not even sound. Yet he still tried, forcing himself, pushing his throat to do something, anything. Just help him get that heavy burden off his chest.

But all that came out was blood and bile.

He felt like he was suffocating, air no longer traveling through his nose to his lungs. He wrapped his hand around his neck, trying to stop somehow the flow of crimson and black. This wasn’t what he meant!

It was hot. So hot!

One last attempt. One last push.

The heat! Someone stop the heat!

Just one…scream.

“GRAAAHHHH!”

✠♦✠

She was frozen in place, his hand having a tight grip on her arm, squeezing it so hard she thought her bone might snap, a rebel whimper escaping her mouth. Anyone else would have screamed aloud, calling for help, to try and save themselves. However, she had suffered far worse at the hands of much bigger creatures. And much viler too. But she was still frightened, his scream having send chills through her body, turning her insides to ice. Such a pain, despair filled shout. What horrors could he possibly dream about to scream like that?

She returned to reality when a groan escaped his lips, his hold loosening a bit. He was burning, beads of sweat traveling down his brow and onto the silk sheets. Gwen reached out with her free hand and took one of the linen strips that lied in the medicine-filled basin, carefully placing it on his forehead. She then took a seat on the bed, next to him, caressing his cheeks and whispering encouraging words, just like she saw the priestesses of Kynareth do in the Temple with the injured soldiers. They used magic as well, but unfortunately for this stranger, Restoration was the lass’ worst school of magic. She rarely used it, preferring her potions instead, thus she never had a reason to deepen her skills in that field. She didn’t doubt it’s validity, but she much rather preferred to save her magika for something much more destructive that could take down her enemies before they had the chance to harm her.

Another whimper pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Shh. It’s ok. You’re safe now.” she whispered, removing a rebel strand of hair from his face.

Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to write to Danica and ask her for help. But would she be willing to travel all the way to Dawnstar to look after an injured stranger when she had all those soldiers to look after? Taking him to Whiterun was out of the question. He was too weak to survive the harsh weather and the roads were too dangerous, with the dragons, beasts and thieves stalking them, looking for prey. Maybe Erandur could help her? He was a priest of Mara and he was living quite close too. Surely he wouldn’t mind lending her a hand aiding someone in need. It’s been so long since they saw each other too. It would be nice to spend some time with someone who didn’t use any opportunity to tease her to the fullest.

“Ugh!”

He winced, the chill of the cloth on his forehead fading, swallowed by the heat of his body, leaving him yearning for more. He could feel his hand grasping something, soft and cold, his thumb brushing against what felt like skin. Through the throbbing of his head, he heard someone speaking to him, faint and slow, a gentle voice assuring him that it would be alright. He opened his eyes, light seeping through his eyelashes, blinding at first, but slowly, it was helping him distinguish his surroundings. He was in the same room as before except the foul scent was gone and he wasn’t alone anymore.

By his side was a petite, pale-skinned woman with eyes as blue as the cloudless sky, silver hair reaching her shoulders, long bangs combed to the side and two strands tied in a ponytail in the back. Blue paintings adorned her face, vines on her cheeks and other patterns on her forehead giving the impression that she was wearing a crown. Her lips were the color of ice, a blue line traveling down her bottom lip to her chin. Small freckles were dancing on her cheeks and nose, giving her a somewhat childish air. She was wearing a white, shoulder less shirt with a black and gold vest over it, and a pair of black pants. She was human by the looks of it, but he could feel something inside her. Something strange that awoke horrible memories in him, pictures that he thought he got over long ago. He brushed it off though, blaming his poor state for the feeling. It wouldn’t be helping him anyway in his situation. He realized he was holding her arm, and immediately let go of it, apologizing.

“S-so-sorry…ugh!” he tried to speak, feeling each sound scratch his throat like thorns on their way out.

“Here.” the woman said, taking a bowl with water and bringing it to his lips with one hand, while she slipped the other under his head to help him get up and drink.

He drained the liquid slowly, enjoying the cold sensation that spread through his body, alleviating the heat that burned his insides. As soon as he was done and the woman retreated her hand, he fell back into the pillows.

“T-Thank… you.” he whispered, looking at her.

Red marks were left behind by his grip, the scarlet hue looking pretty and disturbing at the same time on her pale skin. He felt disgusted with himself. This woman had helped him and yet look what he’s done to her. Just how low had he fallen? He snapped out of his thoughts when he sensed the cloth removed from his forehead and then be replaced by her hand. Dear Lord Gwyn, she was so cold! Even the undead were warmer than her.

“Your fever is beginning to go down.” she said, a note of relief hanging in her tone, the smoothness of her voice delighting his ears. “You must be hungry by now.” she continued. “My friend has gone to get some food and should be back soon. Please hang on until then.”

For a second, he could swear there was a hue of concern in her tone, but his state made it hard for him to say for sure, fatigue stalking him once more like a starved beast, sleep following it closely. He could feel his eyelids getting heavy and the little remaining of his strength weaver, but he fought not to give in to them. There were still things he had to know.

She removed her hand and shifted her attention towards the bowl with medicine and linen strips next to the bed. The concoction had to be changed. Luckily, the next batch was ready and waiting to be used, sitting patiently on her drawer in the laboratory and another one was boiling slowly, waiting for the last of the ingredients to be added. Good thing she had restoked her stash of herbs and bugs not long ago and she had plenty of resources. She took the basin and was ready to leave, when he tried to speak again.

“W-Where…am…am I?” he asked, his throat although not hurting still didn’t collaborate with him as much as he would have wanted too.

She turned around to face him as she spoke, her blue eyes captivating him as if spellbound.

“You are in Dawnstar, the capital of The Pale. I found you in…” she said, only for both of them to hear the downstairs door slam open and the close, another woman yelling her lungs out in some unknown language. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” she said, rushing out of the room.

He watched her leave, minutes after her departure, the other voice dying down, reduced to a hushed whisper that he couldn’t understand. He sighed, staring at the ceiling for a while before closing his eyes and pondering about what she managed to tell him before she got interrupted. He was in Dawnstar, in a place called The Pale. He strained his mind trying to think of where that might be, but no place in Lordran or outside of it rang any bells. He tried to recall the events before he got there, painful as they were, for they may provide some information on his whereabouts. The fight with the Chosen Undead, how he lost, how Smough took a part of his power in order to keep on fighting, the darkness and then…and then…that laughter. It came to him like a hurricane, the words echoing into his ears again.

“It’s your lucky day, kitty cat!”

He wanted to groan, to punch that voice, if only he could. Who was the one who spoke to him then? What had it done to him? What was going on? The questions kept on circling in his head, feeding an upcoming headache. Too many mysteries and not enough answers. He groaned, irritated and in pain, sleep still lurking around him, but after that dream he feared falling into its web again. Oh, he still recalled it so very clear, not even his current confusion managing to drown out that nightmare. It lingered in the corners of his mind, ready to engulf him again in its horrors and the worst part was that he couldn’t evade its territory any longer. His body demanded rest, to slumber and regain its power and he was powerless to deny it. 

He took a deep breath, tried to empty his mind, think of better things, of the friends he missed so much, of the knights he trained and whom he considered his family, pleasant memories to drive the nightmare away, if only for a while. A tear rolled down his cheek as he slipped back into the land of dreams, the beast kept at bay by the times of former glory that overflowed, when the world still made sense and the flames still burned strong with no signs of them ever going out. Through the stream of faces filtering before his mind’s eyes in the rivers of memories he let himself succumb to, he noticed a new one, a gentle smile warming up his insides. Ah! How did she find her way into his dream already?


	4. Farewells and names

“What’s gotten into you to be screaming like that? What happened?” Gwen asked Serana as soon as she came down the stairs.

She set the basin down, wiping away the beads of sweat that rolled down her brow.

“I-” Serana opened her mouth to speak, her screaming chased at last, but then her eyes fell on the Nord’s red arm, her face turning paler than usual and then red with anger. “Who did that to you?!” she yelled again.

“Shh!” Gwen shushed her, gesturing with her hands for the vampire not lower her voice. “Not so loud. You’re going to wake up the dead with your screeching.” the young woman scolded her friend, but Serana had none of it.

“I don’t care! Was is that bas-” she began when the Nord placed a hand over her mouth, reducing her to silence.

“He had a bad dream. He didn’t know what he was doing, alright?” she whispered. “Would you be quiet now, please?”

Serana nodded, her body relaxing a bit, but she refused to let go of all of the tension. How could she? Her friend was hurt after all.

“And promise that you won’t go kill him. It was an accident after all.”

That was something the vampire couldn’t do. She could understand someone having a bad dream and throwing punches, having experienced it herself after she turned into a vampire, memories of the ritual coming to her like starved hounds every night. She fought the ghosts, punching, kicking, trying to get away from them, but the only thing her fists made contact with was the bare air of her bedroom and her feet hit only the sheets and blankets underneath her. Nobody dared come and try to save her, afraid of her blind rage. Thus she was left to bear the horrors alone and learn to swallow her screams. It was her new fate. It was her new life. This was what she wanted, what she endured all that pain for…right?

She looked again at the marks on her friend’s arm, unable to deny that she felt a tad of compassion towards the man. Judging from the force, he was dealing with something really bad, not a mere dream. A memory perhaps? But even with her pity, she couldn’t overlook the fact that her friend had been harmed because of it and for all she cared, the Nord’s safety came before anything else.

Gwen caught up on her mood, like she always did, the look in the vampire’s golden eyes telling her everything she needed to know.

“I appreciate that you’re worried for me, Serana.” she said, removing her hand from the vampire’s mouth and reaching out to take her hand and give it a light squeeze. “I really do. But please have some faith in me now.” she pleaded with her; voice almost trembling.

Serana looked at her, recalling all the times Gwen had asked her to do that, and while sometimes things turned out ok, deep inside, she still feared the day when they would take a turn for the worst, especially when the woman had a stupid talent of messing up things at the most important of moments. She recalled back when Harkon demanded them to give him the Auriel’s Bow, and while the Nord refused, she tried to step away, weapon in both hands, when she tripped and somehow lost her grip on the item, and it bounced away in the other side of the room. Before Serana or Gwen could do anything, the Vampire Lord managed to take it, making the fight that followed increasingly tougher. It wasn’t a pleasant memory. Far from that. Still, she believed one had to make their own mistake in order to learn something.

“I don’t trust you, Gwen,” Serana spoke, always the blunt one, “but I won’t interfere if that’s what you want. However, if something happens…” the vampire paused, giving the Nord a long, serious look.

She let silence settle between them, suppressing a smile as she heard the woman whisper a cuss as she realized what she was setting herself up for.

“I will rip his heart out of his chest and then I will make sure you don't forget this till the day you die, among other things.” Serana continued, a devilish smirk blooming on her lips.

Gwen gulped, cold sweat rolling down her back. She didn’t even dare to think what else her friend had in store for her. As soon as the vampire let go of her hand, the Nord turned around and headed straight to the basin, fiddling with it, her mind still blurred with fright. Though she didn’t make use of them very much, Serana was still a Daughter of Coldharbour, a vampire of the purest kind. She could be really cruel if she wanted to, though she never acted like that towards her. It wasn’t the violent kind of cruel, but a more passive way, one that the Nord found way more frightening and did not want to deal with under any circumstances.

“And about why I was screaming earlier, I ran into some Vigilants of Stendarr on my way back from the tavern.”

Gwen froze hearing the news, about which she almost forgot, turning to look at the vampire. The Vigilants of Stendarr. They were one of the worst factions in all of Skyrim. They didn’t care about anything other than getting rid of any Daedra or undead they came across, uncaring of the poor soul, even when they were no actual threat to others. They had one goal, one that blinded them and turned them into stone cold killers. Even the vampires showed more mercy. She was about to inspect her for injuries when she was stopped, Serana placing a hand up in the air as she spoke again.

“Don’t worry. They were novices, mere boys one step away from adulthood. Couldn’t even wield their maces properly.” 

“What did you do with them?” Gwen asked, nearly whispering, her insides turning cold.

“I lured them to the horkers and let them deal with them on their own.” Serana replied, thinking back at the boys trying to fend against the angry creatures. 

How low must their order have fallen if they needed to accept such young children into their ranks? Children that could barely knew how to fight. 

Horkers were slow, and they could be easily taken out if one was careful and patient. These guys whoever were just plain incompetent. They got easily scared and rushed to dispose of the creatures, stumbling on their own feet and barely able to use their maces right. It was just a matter of time until they got surrounded, with no way out.

“Did they survive?” Gwen asked with a low voice.

She didn’t like the Vigilants of Stendarr, a painful memory resurfacing whenever she saw them through the cities, on the roads, a name resonating in her mind. Fjorn. She shook her head, feeling tears threaten to come out.

Not here. Not now.

Stay focused.

Do not go back to the past.

She didn’t like the Vigilants of Stendarr, but that didn’t mean she wanted them to die.

“No.” Serana whispered, avoiding Gwen’s gaze and looking out the nearest window.

Outside, it was snowing again, huge flakes falling on the ground, and by tomorrow morning, they will cover the crimson spots, hiding the graves she made for the two boys. She didn’t intend to let them die. She just wanted to give them a little scare. She planned to interfere at the last minute, she planned to save them, but…

“There was on more Vigilant. I didn’t notice him.” she continued, very softly.

They were bait.

“He attacked me.”

He was stronger, much more capable to fight.

“I managed to best him.”

But it was too late to save the boys.

“I buried the two on the beach.”

But she threw the other one into the sea. He didn’t deserve to rest in the same place as them.

“I can’t stay here anymore.”

More will come. More children will be sacrificed.

“I will return to Volkihar Castle. If something happens come to me right away. Ok?” Serana approached her friend, her heart almost breaking when she saw the familiar glint of tears shining in the corners of her eyes.

She didn’t want to leave. Not now, when Gwen needed someone to help her. But there was no other way, in order to avoid anymore selfish sacrifices from being made.

“I will.” the Nord replied, her voice trembling slightly. “Promise me, you’ll be alright, and you won’t give Feran more work than he has already.” she jested, both women busting into a fit of laugher. 

“Ok. I will. Now, be careful and try not to kill that guy with your cooking.” the vampire said, wiping a tear from her eyes.

She watched a smile spread across Gwen’s face, as she promised her that she’d be ok and won’t try to cook again. Honestly, the Nord didn’t even want to look at the kitchen anymore, her hands aching again only at the thought of how much they worked to defrost the floors. Yep. Definitely not going near that room for the next few days.

After Serana left, Gwen set to work, preparing the food the vampire bought and took it to the bedroom, the scent of venison stew and Alto Wine filling the house. The man woke up as soon as she entered the room, awakened by the sweet and spicy smells and the creak of the floor underneath her steps. The Nord suppressed a smile as she heard his stomach rumble and not stare at the scarlet blush that was blooming on his face. At least his blood was flowing.

“Sorry for waking you up, but you need to eat something. You need to regain your strength in order to recover.” she said, placing the tray she placed the food on, on the nightstand by the bed.

“D-don’t wo-worry.” he struggled to say, the wound on his chest aching with each breath he took.

Helped by Gwen, he got up on his rear, sweat dripping down his temples and back from the movement. She reached out for a wet rag and wiped the sudor from his forehead, noticing the shiver of his body. There was no way he could eat and drink by himself without making an entire mess. She took a seat on the side of the bed, and proceeded to feed him, examining the color of his eyes, the pure amber, more beautiful than anything she’d seen. It was like melted gold, glowing faintly in the dim light cast by the flames in the chimney. She remained focused, trying her best not to be rude, but just as the sights hidden in the depths of the Nordic ruins stole her breath, so did his looks just tempt her eyes continuously. By the Nine! She wasn’t in love, was she?

As soon as he was done, she helped him lie back down, examining some of his bandages to see which needed to be changed and which not.

“T-tha-thank…you.” the man said, closing his eyes and breathing heavily.

“No need to thank me. Now get some rest. Your body needs all the energy it can get in order to heal.” the woman said, pulling the blankets over him.

She took the tray with the empty bowl and mug of wine, ready to leave and leave him to sleep in peace, when she suddenly remembered something. She turned around, relieved that he wasn’t asleep yet, and with a shy voice, she asked.

“Um…forgive me for bothering but…what is your name?”

He looked at her, struggling to keep his eyes open, the wine and fatigue dragging him to the land of dreams and nightmares.

“O-Ornstein.” he said, fighting to suppress another coughing fit.

“Well, Ornstein, I wish you a good rest. May the Divines grant you a peaceful sleep.” she said, giving him a warm smile.

He thanked her again and she exited the room, making sure the floor didn’t creak this time. On her way down to the living room, she repeated his name again, enjoying the way it rolled off the tongue, the soft O followed by the vibrating r, prolonged by n and then the sharp s, climbing the t and then leaning back down to e and bouncing on the head of i just to roll down the end of n. Each sound was dancing in a beautiful symphony, each letter only making the previous one stand out and not go unnoticed. It demanded respect, it told a tale of strength and courage. A name worthy of a warrior, a lion. She giggled remembering his armor, the golden helmet and the majestic feline motif, king of all animals, the beast with the strongest roar and for a moment, she imagined that he was made for the armor and not the other way around.

Serana’s words began to ring in her ears, followed by her teasing laughter.

“Has the ice queen finally found the flame to melt her?”

Gwen shook her head, trying to block them from pestering her. No. She wasn’t in love. She barely knew him in the first place. How could she feel anything romantic towards him? She only wanted to help. So why was there a laughter echoing in the back of her mind?


	5. Promises and memories

Erandur was more than glad to help Gwen, finally able to repay the debt he owned her. He came as soon as he received word from the courier, carrying potions and scrolls that might provide help. He was radiating with joy when he arrived, glad to aid someone in need as such were Mara’s will and to see his old friend. The change in location from the run-down, melancholic temple to a cozy house contributed to his mood as well. He humbly accepted the Nord’s invitation to rest from the journey, his limbs numb from the cold.

They sat down in front of the fireplace, the Dark Elf letting the warmth of the flames seep into his bones, the scent of tea filling the room.

“It’s been so long since I enjoyed a good fire in the company of a dear friend.” he said, staring at the steaming liquid.

“You are welcome to come here any time. The doors of my house will always be open for you.” Gwen said, wondering how Erandur managed to survive in that place, all alone, with nothing to do or keep him company apart from his thoughts.

“Thank you, my friend, but it wouldn’t be right to take advantage of your kindness like this.” he said, giving her a soft smile.

This was Erandur, a kind man overridden with guilt for what he had done long ago, who was determined to carry his pain by himself while trying to help others. The Nord sighed, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. She tried, countless times before, but he was as stubborn as the wind and refused to let go of his sins, convinced that he could never atone for them. Thus, she was determined to at least offer him some company when the chance presented itself. 

“I guess we should go and look after the man in question.” the Dark Elf said, setting his cup on the table near.

He got up and waited for the woman to lead him to the stranger resting in the bedroom on the first floor. On the way, speaking in hushed tones, she informed her of the man’s name and his unknown origins, yet even with the information, Erandur was still surprised when he saw him, his height alike that of a half-giant, and his features sculpted to almost perfection. But that amazement quickly turned to concern when he noticed his wounds, especially the one on his chest.

“What could have done that?” he whispered loud enough for Gwen, who was already taking his temperature, to hear.

“I don’t know but whatever it was must have been crazy strong. You should have seen his armor.” she replied, frowning as the fever burned her cold skin.

She tried to remove her hand, when Ornstein reached out and pressed her fingers over his forehead, a light whimper escaping his lips. Slowly, he opened his eyes, his cheeks gaining a rosy color when he saw what he was doing.

“Ugh! S-sorry.” he spoke, withdrawing his hand and looking away.

“No need to apologize.” she said, gently, giving him a smile and keeping her hand on his forehead. “Ornstein, this is Erandur,” she continued, gesturing to the Dark Elf by her side, “a dear friend of mine. He’s much more knowledgeable than me when it comes to healing magic.”

Erandur gave him a greeting, while Ornstein tried to get up on his rear, helped by the Nord.

“I’m pleased to meet you, my son. As the Dragonborn has said, my name is Erandur. I am a priest of Mara and my specialty is, indeed, healing magic.” he said, doing a light reverence.

“I…I see…” Ornstein said, confused and trying to understand what was going on.

There were too many unknowns, like the priest’s looks, the name of his goddess, healing magic and not miracles, but one thing from what Erandur said though, stood out among them all. He called Gwen the Dragonborn. The former captain knew that there was something off about her, the power of her soul belonging to no creature other than a dragon. But no matter how much he wrapped his heard around it, he couldn’t imagine how such a thing would be possible. A human with the soul of a dragon? What the heck had been dragged into?

He sat quietly as Gwen and Erandur examined his wounds, enjoying the soothing sensation that the spells cast upon him by the man provided. He watched his smaller injuries fade away. And to do this without any talisman was quite surprising. The Dragonborn was right. They didn’t talk apart from discussing about which potion to use in order to help him recover better, much to his disappointment, as he hoped to learn more about the strange world he had woken up into. The matter which interested him most was this Dragonborn business. What exactly did it mean?

“This is amazing. If things keep going like this, you’ll be up and about in no time!” Gwen said, excitedly, pulling Ornstein out of his thoughts.

He looked at her and then back at his arms which no longer needed bandages, the wounds completely gone. He could also feel his strength return to him slowly. He stretched out his left arm, glad to see that it wasn’t trembling as hard as before when he could barely hold a spoon. He still had difficulties breathing from the wound on his chest, but the woman’s words gave him hope, one he didn’t know he needed.

“Thank you,” he said, looking at both of them, “for everything.”

“Hey, I already said I need no gratitude. I’m just doing what any respecting Nord would do.” Gwen said, waving her hand around.

“Helping those in need is the will of Mara. No need to thank me for this.” Erandur replied as well.

They let him rest, the healing spells draining his energy, fatigue coming over him as a loud yawn escaped his mouth.

Down in the salon, in front of the ever still scorching flames, the Dark Elf and Nord were sipping tea once more, listening to the tunes played outside by the raging storm.

“Please stay the night, Erandur. I can’t bear knowing you outside in this weather.” Gwen spoke, throwing a worried glance towards the blizzard behind the glass windows.

“Thank you very much for the offer, but do not worry. The inn is not far from here. I can make the journey just fine.” he said, declining her offer.

“In that case, I insist that I accompany you and pay for your room. It is I, after all, who insisted you come here.” the woman replied. “And I don’t take no for an answer. You’ve helped me too much and I must repay you somehow.” she added as soon as she noticed the Elf about to object.

Erandur sighed, a soft smile curling on his lips.

“Thank you, my daughter. I appreciate it. You’re helping me now just like when you did back then.” Erandur said, thinking back at the events in the Nightcaller Tower.

My daughter. He hadn’t called that since then. What a wild ride that was. A wild… painful one. Gwen recalled that day as well, but unlike the Dark Elf who remembered the fight against the orcs, the lifting of Vaermina's curse upon Dawnstar and the happiness of people being rid of their nightmares, she thought of the memories she saw through his eyes back when he was Brother Casimir, the fight against the ones he once called brothers and most of all, the sadness and grief in his eyes as soon as it was all over. Duty was so harsh sometimes, colder than the worst winters of Skyrim. It demanded sacrifices and offered choices none should have to make. But such was life and they could only push forward, regardless of the increasing need to give up. It was a painful fact, one that they couldn't do anything apart from accepting it and trying to make this journey a little more bearable, if not for them, at least for others.

✠♦✠

Hot. So hot!

He tried to get away, but his feet didn’t listen to him anymore. But he didn’t give up.

He began crawling, the crimson hell enclosing on him. The ground was littered with bodies, friends and family, those whom he loved most, all charred, horror engraved on their faces. He tried not to look, tried not to get away, but he couldn’t. An unknown power forced him to watch, glued his eyes on the nightmarish scenery around him.

“You couldn’t die then, and now you’re running away too.” a voice drew his attention.

He looked around to see Ciaran, standing right next to him, her cold amber eyes staring right at him, blood dripping down her scarf from a wound he knew too well.

“You lost everything you held dear and will do it again if you keep struggling.” she continued, her ice-cold voice freezing his insides, “Why don’t you just give up?”

The question stung him worse than any weapon ever did. Why did he struggle? He knew Ciaran was right. He lost his family, his friends, his lord. He was tired of it, tired of loss, tired of always shedding tears and digging graves for those whom he cherished. So, why struggle so much?

“Because you still have one thing left to do, right?”

He jerked his head, looking around in desperation to find the source. It couldn’t be…It wasn’t supposed to…No…

✠♦✠

Another nightmare. Fever came in strong. Clenched teeth and silent sobs, fingers digging into the sheets and mattress, he endured it in as quietly as he could. And that broke Gwen’s heart. She stayed by his side, pressing her cold hands on his forehead, hoping the chill of her skin would alleviate the heat in his body. She whispered comforting words to him, careful not to wake him. She tried to recall the lullabies from her childhood, pictures of Fjorn singing to her when she was out cold with fever ravaging her insides, angry fires scorching her entire body, slow and painful, passing before her eyes. But even if she could remember, her voice was not one made for melodies, too off key and high pitched whenever she tried to sing. No. She had the voice of the Dragonborn, one meant to speak the Dragon tongue and shout her enemies down with the power of the scaled beasts. Thus, the memory of those songs that once offered her comfort were useless to her as she had no means to reenact them for the poor man struggling with his own demons.

She sighed as she stood by his side, cussing herself out for not managing to provide comfort for those in need. Some kind of savior she was.

Doubts began to creep into her mind, making her question the role fate bestowed upon her again.

“Are you really fit to be the Dragonborn?”

No. She wasn’t. She never thought she was and never would be. Thus, she waited, hoped that another one, more fit would come along the way, and relieve her of this burden. Selfish and coward. She was aware of her flaws, but she was only human, and a weak one at that.

She sighed again, removing her hand from his forehead and reached out to hold his hand. She flinched when he winced, his eyelids opening slightly.

“Ugh!” he growled as he opened his eyes to look at her. “Did I…did I wake you up?”

“No. I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d come check up on you.” Gwen replied, letting go of his hand.

Maybe it was the fact that he just woke up from a nightmare or the fact that she was beginning to feel a little sleepy, but she could swear he didn’t want to let her go.

“Sorry for the trouble.” he said, trying to avoid her gaze.

“Don’t worry.” she replied softly. “I told you, I’m only doing what anyone else would do.” she said, fiddling with the ends of her tunic.

They stood in silence, Ornstein looking out at the ice-flower covered window, while Gwen’s eyes scanned the doorless wardrobe. So many armors, so many clothes. What was she doing with all of those? She felt a bit ashamed, having spent so many septims on clothes. It was a little funny. To think what she had been and what she is now. From owning nothing, not even rags to put on, to having a roof over her head, a wardrobe full of garments and food to eat, the money to afford to eat at an inn every time. But what for? What was the point of it all if the person she wanted to share it with most wasn’t there by her side?

“I…I’ll leave you to sleep, then.” she said, getting up and heading towards the door. “Sorry for bothering you. Good night.”

“It was no problem. Have a good rest.” he wished her, following her small figure disappear through the doors.

Alone in the basement room, Gwen stared at the ceiling, the sleep she longed for refusing to come. Memories flooded her mind, and she couldn’t stop them, tears flowing down her cheeks. Sobbing quietly, she turned on the side, the blanket pulled tightly over her head as she was overcome by nostalgia and sorrow.

✠♦✠

Ornstein frowned at the concoction. No matter how many times he had drunk it before, he couldn’t get used to the grassy bittersweet taste that danced on his tongue every time. He disliked how it made him sleepy afterwards, and he longed for the blessed waters that princess Gwynevere offered him and his men before any mission. Still, he didn’t want to be rude and knew that he was in no position to be making demands. Thus, with eyes closed, he gulped down the crimson liquid, holding back a shrug at the taste. When he was done, he placed the empty vial on the nightstand next to him, feeling the wound on his chest slowly closing and his strength draining. He lied down, waiting for Erandur and Gwen, who were in the laboratory from what he understood, to come back and change his bandages. His injuries had healed apart from the one that nearly proved to be his demise, thanks to the care they gave him for the last week, and now he could speak longer sentences without fighting to catch his breath all the time. He still needed to sleep a lot because of the potions, but Gwen assured him that soon he won’t need them anymore, and he could do just fine with only a few spells which didn’t drain him as much.

He closed his eyes, trying to think of what he knew so far. He wasn’t in Lordran anymore, that much was clear, and although the realization hurt him more than words could describe, he learned to accept it, for there was nothing else he could do. At least, not in his current state. The nightmares had gone away, though he could feel their presence in the back of his head, growling and hissing like hungry beasts, trying to sink their claws into him at the first opportunity. But the memories of him, the one he admired most were stronger than them, and just like demons running away from the light, so were they fearing the presence of those sunny days when he and him would go hunting, when they would train with their spears and spend wonderful moments together. The words “you still have one thing left to do” echoed in his ears, remining him of a promise he had made long ago, a promise that gave him all the strength that he needed.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting.” Gwen said, entering the room with a tray on which rested a long roll of bandages, in her hands.

“Don’t worry about that.” he said, getting back up on his rear. “Where us Erandur?” he asked, noticing that the man wasn’t coming.

“He went to the Oceanside Supply to get you some new clothes. Given how well you’re doing, I guess you can soon have a proper bath.” she explained, putting the tray down.

She began to undo his bandages, smiling when she saw the wound nearly healed for good. It was going to leave a scar, unfortunately, but at least it wouldn’t bother him anymore. As she removed the old linen strips, her eyes fell upon the cascade of crimson hair tied in a bun to not get in the way. It was clear that it needed to be brushed badly, but she was unsure if that was a possibility given how many knots there were. Most of the ends were split and the length would make it hard for him to wash it, which was also required.

“I…I think you need a haircut.” she said, noticing how he flinched at the last word.

“M-must I really?” he whispered; a bit embarrassed.

Gwen held back a smile as she answered him, though truth be told, she liked his hair as well, and didn’t want to have to run a pair of scissors through that crimson waterfall, but some things had to be done, regardless of one’s wishes.

“I’m afraid so. Don’t worry. I’m used to giving haircuts.” she said, though she omitted to say that none of her previous subjects were that tall.

Though, if he was sitting on a low chair, then maybe she could do it.

“A-alright.” Ornstein said, his tone betraying his sadness.

Gwen tried not to giggle and went to fetch a stool to have him sit on, leaving him to try and make peace with his fate. In any other circumstances, Ornstein would have protested such an idea with all his might. His hair was his lion's mane after all! But now he was too tired for such antiques and showing disrespect towards his savior was the last thing he wanted. He was better than that.

When she came back, he gulped down a lump in his throat. Ugh! He really didn’t want to do this.

✠♦✠

“My mane …” Ornstein whispered, watching from the bed as the scarlet strands of hair were swooped away in a dustpan.

His head was feeling a lot lighter than ever before, the waterfall of fire which once reached his lower back, was now barely passing his shoulders, the soft ends tingling his skin. Gwen did a good job, but he couldn’t help but think how ridiculous he’d look now with his helmet on. Speaking of which.

“May I ask you something?” he asked, just as the woman was about to leave. 

“Hm? Sure? What is it?” Gwen said, turning to look at him.

“My armor and spear. Where are they?”

A lump formed in Ornstein’s stomach, as he saw a frown form on her face.

“Your armor is down in my forge. I’m still looking for someone to fix it as I don’t think my skill is enough. As for your weapon…” she began her voice dying off. She took a pause to ponder, the frown on her brow, deepening. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen it.”

The statement felt like a punch to the gut. He felt all his energy drain from his body. If he weren’t already in bed, his knees would have given in and he would have crashed to the floor. His spear. A gift from him. Of all the things to lose…

“Hey! Are you ok?” Gwen asked, tossing the dustpan away.

She rushed to his side, trying to understand what the problem was, but when she reached out to touch him…

“Leave me alone!” he snarled at her, slapping her hand away from him.

Gwen stepped back, holding her aching hand, completely bewildered. What had gotten into him? She wanted to ask him what was going on, but the look on his face let her know that she wouldn’t get any answer out of him. He looked lost, grieving almost. Did his spear mean that much to him?

The woman didn’t pry. She turned around without saying a word, went to pick up the dustpan, and left him alone, closing the door as gently as she could behind her. As she went outside to throw away the hair, she couldn’t help but sigh. Her hand still ached, and she winced when she used it to open the door. She knew he was strong, but this? Her wrist and fingers were a bit numb, but luckily she could fix it with a novice healing spell. Good thing neither Erandur nor Serana weren’t there to see it or else his days would have been numbered.

As soon as she stepped outside, she took a deep breath, enjoying the cold air of the evening, stars and northern lights adorning the dark blue sky along with the two moons. There hadn’t been any snow storms that day, the sound of the waves of the nearby sea echoing through the ether. She stood in the doorway, delighting herself in the small pleasures of the night. After tossing the hair in a nearby pile of trash which would soon be burned down, she pondered on what to do next. There was no need to rush back inside as Erandur informed her that he wouldn’t return after placing the order for Ornstein’s clothes and he’d go straight to the inn to rest for that day and she didn’t feel like going to sleep just then. Thus, she decided to take a walk along the shores, a thing she hadn’t done in what felt like ages.

She placed the dustpan next to a stack of firewood and headed down towards the dark sanded beach, throwing a quick glance in the direction of the tent where she assumed lovers would go and have a nice time. But ever since she moved there, she never once saw anyone use that tent, which was not necessarily a bad thing. Still, curiosity was a funny thing, a hungry beast that never seemed to be satiated, no matter how much one fed it.

Gwen tore her eyes off the tent and looked away at the boat that took her weeks to fix and get going. A late night trip on the Sea of Ghosts would have been nice, but dangerous as well. She still remembered the first day when she set sail, Serana by her side, having a strong grip on whatever looked more stable, glaring at the Nord during the entire time, cussing herself for allowing to be convinced to embark on that journey. She expected the boat to break apart any minute and drag them to a watery grave, but much to her relief, Gwen’s craftmanship in woodwork proved itself and they had a pleasant journey on the silent sea. Ah! How much she would have liked to swim at that moment. But the dark waters hid the nasty slaughterfish that lurked near the shores, their sharp razor teeth just waiting to sink into someone’s flesh and tear it apart, making it all the more dangerous compared to daytime. Instead, she took off her boots and took a seat on the dark sand, letting the fickle waves that came and went, splash her toes and send cold shivers throughout her entire body. Memories of her childhood came back to her, when Fjorn would take her to Lake Honrich, how they would walk along the roads boarded on each side by birch trees and would pick mountain flowers under the moonlight.

A single tear flowed down her face, and she hurried to wipe it away. Why was she thinking about her so much these days? Why were those memories haunting her now of all times?

Tired and not wanting to cry in the open and risk someone seeing her, she got up and returned home, preparing for another long, sorrowful night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...how horrible is it? Be honest, please.


	6. Frozen land

There were no words to say how glad Ornstein was now that his wounds had fully healed, and he could walk around without panting or aching. He was also happy to be able to get out of the bedroom and explore the house, the frozen weather outside discouraging him from wanting to venture in the village. He could feel the cold seeping into his bones just by staring out the window at the snow covered town below. He didn’t mind spending time inside though, taking the opportunity to learn more about Skyrim, memorizing the maps Gwen had pinned on the walls of her desk in the living room, sometimes reading some more, even if the activity itself was not the most pleasant one. He longed to exercise, to stretch his muscles and get the adrenaline rushing through his veins once more. But that had to wait, and for now, he had to make do with what he had on his hands.

Right now, he was keeping Gwen company in her laboratory, watching in awe at the multitude of ingredients and plants growing in pots spread all around the room, their strong, sweet scent making him feel a bit nauseous. The woman didn’t seem to mind it, moving with precision, barely looking at the recipes hanging over her walls, casting her incantations as the concoctions boiled, changing colors from their muddy green to a beautiful, deep blue.

Ornstein wasn’t one for sorcery, considering it mostly a coward’s method, but he couldn’t deny that he found the one used in this land quite impressive. Especially the potions.

“Did you learn all this on your own?” he asked, handing her a vial of something purplish.

“Not really. My mentor, Fjorn, taught me the basics. After a few explosions here and there, I got the hang of it well enough to continue researching on my own.” Gwen replied, back turned to him as she continued to work.

Since he was feeling better now, she was considering going to Riverwood and leave Erandur to see to her guest’s needs. Alvor sent word for her about a dragon which began roaming the road for a while. Though it hadn’t attacked anyone from the village so far, no one was ken on waiting for it to do so before taking measures. In preparation for that, she decided to refill her stock of mana potions, maybe make some fire resistance ones as well.

Ornstein raised an eyebrow at the mention of explosion but decided not to ask further. He saw enough failed experiments to last him a lifetime thanks to Seath and his desperate need for knowledge, he didn’t need more. He looked around the room, studying the contents of the cabinets, a shiver running down his spine when he noticed a jar with a crimson substance inside, a thing which looked like a heart pressing against the glass. He looked away, trying to not ponder about it. He didn’t want to become paranoid all of the sudden. He turned his attention towards the multitude of scrolls stuffed in the drawers of a desk next to him. He carefully pulled one out, and unrolled it, trying to read and make sense of its contents, but the symbols and the pentagrams were too complicated, and the small writing made it hard to read. How did sorcerers manage to use these things?

“What about you?” Gwen asked, pulling the man out of his thoughts.

“Excuse me?” he asked, looking up from the scroll.

“Your armor…” she began while carefully pouring a hefty amount of fire salts in the boiling concoction, “the work is unlike anything I’d ever seen. Forgive my praying, but I was wondering,” she turned to face him, blue eyes staring into his, “where are you from, Ornstein?”

There was an innocent curiosity in her gaze and though he was sure she meant no harm, how could he explain to her, or anyone for the matter, that he was from another world, without seeming insane? In Lordran, the convolution of time brought upon by the fading of the flame, the phantoms of others warriors that traversed the realm, undisturbed, those were common knowledge, but here?

He continued to stare at Gwen, the woman’s silver hair sparkling in the candlelight, mind scrambling for the words to say.

“I am from a faraway kingdom called Lordran.” he found himself saying, turning his head to look away.

“Lordran? I never heard of it.” the Nord commented, tilting her head to the side.

“Yeah….it’s…”he began, scratching the back of her head, “it’s a rather small kingdom” A lie, “and we prefer to keep to ourselves.” another one.

“Oh, I see. Then…how did you get here?” she continued to ask.

“That’s…that’s a complicated story. I’m…I’m not even sure myself.” Truth. “All I know is that I was bleeding out when all of the sudden there was this voice in my head and the next thing I knew, I was falling.” he explained, crossing his arms over his chest as he remembered the words and the mocking tone of whoever was that talked to him back then.

Gwen stayed silent for a minute; brow furrowed in thought.

“This is only my guess, but this might be a Daedra’s work.” she said after a while. “But I can’t really say which one.”

“I thought so too, to be honest.” Ornstein sighed, looking out the window.

The snow storm begun once more, the wind ravaging the peaceful scenery.

“Is it always like this?” he asked, looking at Gwen, the hissing of the boiling concoction making her return to her task.

“The weather? It will get better soon, don’t worry about that.” the woman replied.

Ornstein nodded, and continued to look out the window. He was glad that she wasn’t asking anymore questions, unsure of how to answer if she decided to pry about his identity or Lordran’s location. Fortunately, she seemed much more preoccupied about her potions to pay him any attention, at least for the moment. He excused himself and went to the living room to throw a few more logs on the fire. As he watched the flames devour the logs, he thought about what he should do next. He was aware that sooner or later, he’d have to tell Gwen the truth about himself, about his whereabouts, but he had no idea how to even bring it up. He took a seat on the nearest chair and sighed deeply, holding his head in his hands, and trying to wrap his mind around this whole situation. Ugh! If he could get his hands on the bastard Daedra who brought him there!

✠♦✠

Ornstein stared at the waves, their slow movement, the salty scent floating in the air helping him relax and let go of the tension he felt all day. It’s been one week since Gwen went on some errands and left him in Erandur’s care. It wasn’t bad. Far from it.

The Dark Elf gladly showed around him the settlement of Dawnstar, introducing him to the locals and indicating him where all the shops were. The knight was glad to finally move his feet and inhale the fresh air, though he could do without the harsh weather. The cold was nibbling at his being through the clothes and cloak he was wearing and seeing all those people going about their business without any mind of the frozen air blowing in their faces didn’t help either. He assumed that it was all thanks to being a Nord, but even so, weren’t they bothered at all? Even his strongest men would tremble in these conditions and they endured far worse, that was for sure.

He saw the mines, where most of the townsfolk worked, the owners constantly competing with each other, the port where sailors were glad that they made it back home safe, rumors of pirate attacks having scared them for weeks before their departure. Next was the smith, Rustleif and his wife, Seren, both of them greeting Erandur with warmth, thanking him for saving the village from horrible nightmares which plagued them for a long while. Ornstein raised an eyebrow at this, and he gave the Dark Elf a questioning look as he was talking to the two humans.

“No need for gratitude, my daughter. I only did what I had to. If anyone should be thanked, it should be the Dragonborn. Without her, I’m afraid I would have failed.” the Dunmer replied, looking up at the tower on top of the hill behind Dawnstar.

“Speaking of the Dragonborn, where is she?” Seren asked, looking around, finally tearing her eyes off the enormous man accompanying the priest.

Ornstein was used to being stared at, the grateful, amazed, and sometimes spiteful looks humans and gods alike gave him whenever he and his men returned from battle still clear in his mind, memories of days long past.

“She was summoned to Riverwood, two days ago. There were sights of a dragon flying around.” Erandur explained.

“I see. Well, I hope she’ll come back safe. The roads have been getting more and more dangerous and there are rumors about that the Thalmor stalking all the paths leading to Windhelm. I don’t know what they are planning but if those swine are up to something, then it’s nothing good.” Rustleif said, spitting in the snow, hatred sullying his last sentence.

The knight looked at the Nord, trying to conceal the emotions from his face, mainly his concern for Gwen, an old trauma creeping from the farthest corners of his mind to haunt him once more.

“By the way Erandur, who is your friend?” Serene asked, looking at the red-headed man.

“My apologies for not introducing him earlier. He is Ornstein, a friend of mine and Gwen who’s been staying with us for a while due to circumstances. I was showing him around Dawnstar today.” the Dark Elf said, motioning towards the knight.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” he replied, doing a light reverie.

Serene and Rustleif chuckled seeing his mannerism.

“The pleasure is all ours. Where are you from Ornstein? You don’t look like a Nord.” the man asked, looking up to meet the giant’s eyes.

“I’m from Lordran.” the knight replied. “It’s a very faraway place.” he quickly added, noticing the confusion on their faces.

“I see. Well, you chose quite a bad time to come to Skyrim with the war going on and this dragon menace.” the woman said, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Misery loves company as they say.” commented her husband.

Ornstein said nothing while Erandur changed the subject from the war looming over sleepy town to the ports and the blacksmith’s work. They listened to the man talk about his work, sharing silly stories he heard from the sailors from their journey. They laughed and smiled, time passing by faster than any of them expected. It was almost evening when they left, with the Dark Elf leading the knight to the tavern to dine for the day. The red-haired man held back a sigh of relief when he saw the fire burning in the center of the large inn, the warmth seeping into his frozen limbs and chasing the cold away. The place was full, men and women alike celebrating the end of another long day with wine and ale, the air filled with song and scent of food and sweet beverages.

News of a strangely tall, red-haired newcomer had spread like wildfire, and despite no one stopping from their activities, Ornstein could feel their stares digging into the back of his neck as he took a seat at the farthest table in the back of the tavern. He ignored them, too tired and numb from spending an entire day into the cold to care about anything else than filling his belly and warming himself up. After a young girl came to bring them some food, her gaze lingering upon the knight a little longer than necessary, the two began to talk again.

“I hope your visit has been pleasant today.” Erandur said, loud enough for Ornstein to hear him over the sound of the bard and the laughter of the others.

“Apart from the cold, it was truly pleasant.” he answered, before taking a mouthful of wine, the hot and sweet liquid traveling down his throat and warming up his insides.

“Yes, indeed. Skyrim is a cold land, but it’s people are kind as you’ve seen, always ready to lend a hand.” the Dunmer said, throwing a glance towards the party near them.

“Yes, they seem like good people.” Ornstein commented, then returned his attention to his plate.

“You don’t look too well. Is something bothering you?” Erandur asked, noticing the dark look in his companion’s eyes.

“Oh, my apologies. I didn’t mean to….”

“Don’t worry about me, my son. Now, tell me, what is it on your mind?” the priest asked, looking straight into the tall man’s amber eyes, so young yet so very, very tired., the eyes of a broken man.

Ornstein sighed, a soft smile trying to creep at the corner of his lips. What did he do to deserve such kindness from strangers?

“I’m a little worried about Gwen. All this talk about dragons and war. Are you sure she is going to be alright?” the knight asked.

According to the rumors that made their way to his ears as they strode through the town, she was strong. having taken down a dragon with the help of the guards and helped many of the folks, going to rescue dear ones from danger, retrieving lost artifacts which for them carried deep meanings. Still, despite her apparent strength, he knew better than to lie to himself. He made that mistake once, and it costed him dearly. He wasn’t planning on making the same mistake again. 

A soft smile sparkled in the Dunmer’s blood-red eyes.

“I understand your concern, my friend, and I must admit that I do share it. Times are hard and her duty demands much of her.” Erandur said, eyelids slowly closing as he spoke, “but I believe in the gods’ plan, and I have faith that at the end of this journey, she will stand victorious.”

A chuckle escaped Ornstein’s lips. The gods’ plan. Pretty words with no meaning used to deceive those weak of will who blindly followed the divine.

“Though,” Erandur continued, “I wish I could accompany her on her quest.” he said, a note of sadness clinging onto his voice.

After the events in the Nightcaller Temple, after the two of them parted, the Dragonborn had gone to help someone else, he was left alone with his thoughts and goddess, to atone for the betrayal weighting down on him. He was praying most of the time, but when he wasn’t, he strolled through the halls he used to call home, memories of brothers and sisters flowing before his eyes with each step he took. The corpses of his fellow companions and enemies were still littering the corridors, the scenery and stench making his stomach turn. He scolded himself for his foolishness and quickly began making graves for each and every single person who fell in the battle carried in that tower, ally, and adversary alike. He found the task of digging the frozen soil both tough and strangely relaxing, the tension in his body slowly diminishing with each strike. As the cold of the outside entered his bones and sweat dripped down his brow, he began to feel a little better. He was far from being at peace with what he had done, but tending to what remained of his fellow friends, brought him a sense of relief. Thus, after his usual hours of prayers and performing Mara’s rites, he would go and do small repairs where he could. Images of the past still haunted him, drenched in black and grey, but somehow, treasuring the little things he still had left of them was helping him regain the colors of those days. Replanting and watering Fiona’s flowers whom she grew ever since he knew her, fixing Marcus’ rocking chair that he inherited from his late grandmother, He chuckled, recalling how mad he got when one of the new cult members nearly set it on fire, a smile tugging on his lips when he found traces of the accident on the back of the chair. It brought him closure. It brought him release. And yet, he longed for more. Tending to the remains of the dead was good, but deep within him, he yearned to do more than that, to aid the living as well. He thought about insisting once more to accompany Gwen on her journey, but apparently Mara had other plans. With the curse lifted, and Gwen making sure that everyone knew he had a part to play in it as well, people of Dawnstar began to trust him, and would come visit him, sometimes just to make sure he was alright, other times to ask for small favors like healing a wound, help with tending to the sick and wounded, or teach those who wished to offer themselves to Mara. The later weren’t many, and most were travelers from the other holds. The Dunmer was glad to help guide them, and lend a hand whenever he could, but that meant he could no longer accompany Gwen on her journeys. He felt disappointed by that, but if Mara’s will was to stay in Dawnstar and aid the others, he couldn’t do anything but obey, thus leaving the Dragonborn to continue her adventures on her own. There were people who were willing to share her burden, but they would leave after a while, following their own paths. She never showed it, always happy to see them move on, but he could see the loneliness in her eyes. And it broke him on the inside. She helped him so much and continued to do so, yet here he was, unable to do anything.

Ornstein noticed the sad look in the Dark Elf’s eyes, how he got lost in his own thoughts. It was obvious that he cared about Gwen and worried about her and he understood it. The woman seemed nice if a bit naïve and though she looked rather weak, she was actually powerful. But even the strongest could fall. He had to learn that on his own skin.

They continued their meal in silence, each caught in their own thoughts, the party going on around them being the only thing which reminded them that they were not in the comfort of the Morskom Estate. When they were done, the knight left on his own, despite the Dunmer’s pleas to accompany him. The frozen streets were empty, save for the guards patrolling the town, most of the people being either at the inn or at home, resting for the next day. As expected, it was much colder at night than during the day, the two moons shining bright into the sky, bathing the settlement in a silver light. Ornstein was looking at the Northern Lights as he walked towards the Estate, the vibrant colors, and the sparkling stars around them leaving him speechless. For someone who dedicated himself to serve the Sun, he never believed the night could hold such beauty. He climbed the stone stairs leading to the house on the hill, his eyes catching the crimson glow of the snowberry bushes in front of the building. It was…beautiful.

He stood there, taking the scenery in as much as he could, before the cold urged him to hurry inside, to the warmth of the fire. In the distance, he could hear the waves, a sound so relaxing, almost like a lullaby. Without thinking too much about it, he decided to go and take a look at the sea before going to bed. He didn’t feel sleepy anyway.

He strode through the backyard and down the hill, snow falling off the tree branches swaying in the wind making the path seem more eerie in the gentle light of the moon.

The moon.

His thoughts flew back home, to the Darkmoon Tomb where Gwyndolin stood guard, hiding himself from a world which never welcomed him, the child born under the moon, unlike his other siblings who had been born under the sun, their father’s symbol. Ornstein wondered how he was doing now. Had the Firekeeper visited him? She was one of the few friends he had, even if he never admitted it. He was too proud to admit his loneliness, but the knight knew him well enough to see through his façade. He helped raised him after all, just like with him.

“Shit!” the man yelped, quickly retreating back to the shore, leaving the frozen sea behind.

He was so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed he had walked right into the water, the cold touch of the waves pulling him back to reality. He cussed his negligence again and took a seat on the ground, took off his boots to let them dry, his toes sinking into the fine sand.

He was grateful that at least the beach wasn’t covered in snow, at least a part of it. From what he could see from atop of the hill, most of the land was covered in snow. Needless to say, he was pretty disheartened by it. Especially after he heard that winter never ended in that land. How did those people made it in there? Were humans always this sturdy? Or only the ones in Skyrim? He couldn’t remember the humans back in Lordran being this resistant, but maybe he was wrong. After all, when was the last time he had left Anor Londo? Centuries? Millenniums? He wasn’t sure. Time lost meaning after a while, days blending in onto each other, as each one passed just like the other, standing guard in front of the Princess’ Chamber’s door with anything hardly going on. On occasion, after everything fell to ruin, an undead would come to the cathedral to challenge him and Smough and claim the Lordvessel. A welcomed event to disturb the monotony of the day, but as time went on, they fought less and less, the undead giving up on their dream of glory and fully succumbing to their curse, leading the knight to believe that he and the others were doomed to wait the end of the world in that gods-forsaken-place….until they came.

Ornstein squeezed his eye shuts, the scar on his chest aching at the memory. He didn’t want to think about it again. He shook his head, waving it off like an annoying mosquito. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, staring at the wide, restless sea, the salty air bringing fatigue over him. He got up and headed back to the house, eager to climb in bed and let the sheets warm his cold limbs.

The quiet halls of the estate, the smoldering logs in the fireplace casting shadows over the floor, brought upon him a sense of loneliness and longing, memories he cherished dearly flowing over him. Small hands reaching out to him, lullabies sung for only one to hear, silly secrets, even sillier games, a red ball, hide and seek, wooden spears, dreams of being a knight. Oh, how he yearned to return to those days, even if he was overwhelmed with work and worries, each day being a gift and a curse at the same time. Yet, somehow, it was much, much better than this. Ugh! It was nights like this when he appreciated Gwen’s presence, how she always seemed to pick up on his moods and be there to offer him support by making small talks, a most pleasant distraction from his thoughts. He had so much to repay her for. If only there was anything he could do, but what is a knight without his armor and weapon…his weapon…his beloved spear…He still beat himself over its loss, unable to get over it. How could he after all? The blade had been a present from his lord, proof of his rank and accomplishments and also symbol of their bond.

With his heart aching from the pain, he slipped under the covers, waiting for sleep to overcome him.

✠♦✠

Gwen crashed in bed, the sweat dripping down her brow, sparkling in the dim candlelight. It was late, the night having fallen over Skyrim a few hours ago, the people in the Sleeping Giant were long asleep, except for Delphine who was still busy, planning their next move. To say she gave the young woman a scolding would be an understatement. Poor Nord ears were still aching from the talking she received, cheeks burning from shame and eyes stinging from tears. If not for the fatigue, she would spend all night crying herself to sleep, but all her body demanded was rest, too weary to even shed tears.

She sighed deeply, her eyelids slowly closing as she was losing consciousness to the land of dreams. A tender smile creeped upon her lips as a last, fleeting thought of home made its presence known. Soon, she’d go back and with a nice gift as well. Ah! She could hardly wait.


	7. Rest

The head of the axe fell down quickly, splitting the thick log in two with a clean cut. In the distance, the weaves sang their usual melody, the cold seeping through his clothing and right into his bones. He set the tool down, picked the logs he cut down and headed back into the house, glad that the flames hadn’t gone out while he was preparing the firewood. It was far too early in the morning, the sky still painted in dark and blue with the stars and Northern Lights adorning the horizon, yet he wasn’t tired at all, despite the little sleep he had gotten that night. He sat down on the chair nearest to the fireplace, feeding the smoldering ashes, his mind drifting away. There was a certain feeling in his chest, a glimpse of joy blooming within his being at the thought of what was going to happen.

That day was the one when Gwen was going to come back from her journey and though he didn’t want to really admit it, he was overjoyed at the fact. Erandur was great company, and their journeys through the village were enjoyable as well. He got to know more of the residents, finding common ground with Brina and her housecarl, Horik, with whom he would enjoy a warm drink at the inn. On some days, he’d be at the counter, listening to Thoring share the latest rumor with him, while Karita was playing the lute in the background. It brought a sense of nostalgia to him, sparkling a longing that he hadn’t noticed was still there. Nights of his days back in Anor Londo’s time of glory came back to him, the drunken brawls, the silly songs his brothers in arms used to sing as they held their mugs high, the laughter, the screams of the winds blowing outside, and of course, the main event of the evening, the dance. He never participated, his role being elsewhere, but he loved to watch them, to see the smiles on their faces, the clumsy movements which sometimes resulted in a fall or two. It surprised him that he could still recall them in such great detail, from the scent of sweat after a hard day of training to the taste of the food and the scratches on the musical instruments laying in the small room in the back. They were his favorite moments of the day, especially after a day stuck into an office doing paperwork every waking second. After everything fell to ruin, he lost any hope of every experiencing those nights again, the harshness of reality weighting too much on everyone’s shoulders for them to enjoy themselves like they did in the past. To get a taste of that here, was both cathartic and painful at the same time. It wasn’t something new though, his heart and mind being a complete mess ever since he woke up in Skyrim. Beneath his calm façade, he was still struggling to make sense of it all. He wanted to talk to someone about it, but he didn’t feel right to burden anyone with his problems. He needed something to think about, a distraction from his own demons.

And as strangely as it sounded, he needed Gwen for that.

The problem of repaying her for saving and treating him still hadn’t left his head, and he finally found a way. He wanted to aid her in her mission as he had more experience with dragon killing, and though he didn’t intend to underestimate her ability, he knew well the desire to have a companion by one’s side while dealing with those pests. Still, it pained him to an extent. He was more than willing to aid her until he found a way to get back to Lordran, but after that…he didn’t really wanted to think about it, disgusted by his own selfishness.

Suddenly, the main door opened, the loud creak pulling Ornstein out of his reverie. He got up and turned to look in time to see Gwen struggling to pull a large, wooden container inside, her cheeks bright red, melting flakes sparkling in her silver hair. Without thinking, he was already by her side, aiding her.

Gwen flinched a bit at his sight, taking a deep breath before speaking, her chest burning from the effort of dragging the box all the way up to the estate from the bottom of the hill.

“Hey. Didn’t expect to see you up so early.” she said, between gasps. “Did I wake you up?”

She did cuss a few times on the way up, when one of her heels nearly slipped from under her and she almost fell down, but she didn’t think she had been so loud.

“No. I was already awake. By the way, welcome back. Hope your journey was pleasant.” he replied.

“Thanks and about my travels…by the Divines, you have no idea.” she began, a wide smile gracing her lips. “But before that, how was your week?”

With her heels, backpack, and cape off, a cup of tea in her hands and the warmth of fire enveloping her into a much welcomed embrace, Gwen spent the morning listening to Ornstein’s stories, asking about his impressions, glad to notice the note of joy clinging onto his voice. She had been worried about him before she left, seeing that he wasn’t comfortable being confined between four walls. To hear that Erandur took the initiative to show him around, brought a sense of alleviation to her. She knew how it felt to be away from home, stuck in a foreign land with hardly anyone by one’s side. She was happy to find that he at least was making some acquaintances here.

“What about you? How was your trip?” he asked after he was done.

“Well, I ” Gwen began when suddenly she remembered something, “by Shalidor’s... I almost forgot! Come on. I have something for you” she said, jumping out of her chair and rushing towards the large container, left in the hallway.

“Haven’t you done enough for me?” he asked, but followed her, nonetheless.

“Well, this one I just couldn’t let it be.” she replied, beginning to undo the seal on the container.

Ornstein sighed, curiosity nagging him on, questions crawling into his mind. All of them disappeared though, once he saw the contents of the box, his jaw dropping at the sight of his golden armor in pristine condition. He looked at it, then at Gwen and then back at it, unable to believe his own eyes.

“I take it that you’re happy?” the Nord asked, a grin spread across her face.

Ornstein was unable to reply, too many emotions filling him all at once. He wanted to hug her, cry out of joy, fall down to his knees, and embrace that lionide helmet, pinch himself and wake himself up from that dream. When the young woman placed her hand upon his back, he snapped out of it, realizing that his mouth was still agape, his vision blurred by tears of gratitude.

“I -I ” he began, quickly wiping his eyes, his cheeks turning the color of roses, “thank you very much, Gwen. I…I really don’t…thank you.” he said.

“Hey, no problem. Besides, it was a pity to leave it in disrepair. It’s more like a work of art rather than an armor, after all. Especially the helmet.” she spoke, lifting up the lion-themed head piece and examining it under the light from the chandelier.

The snarling animal, a visage of power and pride. He remembered when Lord Gwyn had bestowed the honor of wearing it upon him, the most glorious day of his life. He made sure to take care of it, polishing the metal with only the best of materials, cleaning it rigorously after each battle and training session with the Silver Knights. His friends would sometimes tease him for his overly carrying attitude towards it, but in the end, they understood how much it meant to him. It was all in good faith anyway and he never minded any of it. 

“Every detail is so well done. Alvor couldn’t stop praising it while he was fixing it. He begged me to introduce him to the one who made it.” Gwen continued, setting it back down.

“Alvor?”

“The blacksmith who repaired it. He lives in Riverwood. I will introduce you sometimes if you want.”

“I’d love to.” Ornstein said, eager to meet this man and thank him for fixing his armor.

“No probl-” the Nord began, when a loud growling noise came from her stomach.

She looked down, her entire face burning, wrapping her hands around her noisy torso. Just as Ornstein wanted to say something to ease off her embarrassment, another rumble echoed in the hallways, this time coming from him.

They both looked at each other for a few seconds before they busted into laughter as their stomach continued with their inelegant melody.

“Let’s go and grab something to eat.” Gwen said, heading towards the shoe rack to grab her boots.

“Sounds good to me. I believe Erandur is already there, waiting for us. I bet he’s eager to hear about your journey.”

“Then let’s not keep him waiting anymore, shall we?”

✠♦✠

“I’m glad to hear that you hadn’t gotten poisoned, my daughter. The venom of the frostbite spider is not something to be treated lightly.” Erandur said, as soon as Gwen finished her story.

He had seen firsthand the effects it had on someone, slowly draining their life and power through agonizing pain, their very screams engulfed by the quickly setting fatigue. The surviving chances depended on many factors, from the victim’s overall health, to their surroundings, to how fast they could get their hands on a healing potion. The frostbite spider’s biggest threat wasn’t as much in their venomous bites but in their numbers. Wherever there was one spider, 2 or 3 more were bound to lie in wait for the naïve traveler, foolish enough to think it easy prey. Even seasoned warriors such as the Dragonborn had trouble getting rid of them sometimes, much less an inexperienced lad, thirsty for the thrill of adventure and blind to its dangers.

“I know.” Gwen replied, taking another sip from her mug of wine. “Still, at least, now I don’t have to worry about running out of frostbite venom from a while.” she added, displaying a mischievous smile.

Horrible as it may be on its own, once one added a bit of jarring root to it, its poisonous properties spiked all the way to high heaven, able to take down even a dragon.

“I won’t have to go away for another week, at least.” Gwen continued, hoping that Delphine wasn’t going to call for her for the next few days.

She was tired, in desperate need of a break from all the fighting. She minded not the exploration, delving into old caverns, and finding lost artifacts, but she needed a break from the constant feeling of dread and danger lingering in the back of her mind, the tension of the muscles, ready to sprint away at the slightest movements from the darkest corners where light dared not reach. She longed for peace to return again, for the blissful ignorance from before it all began. If only she could turn back time, knowing what she knew now, would she put a stop to it, avoid the fate bestowed upon her against her will? Even if she did, where would she start? When she saw the dragon? When she offered to take the news to the jarl? Or when she went to retrieve the Dragonstone? It didn’t matter. Only the consequences had any importance to the young Nord, and they were not favorable at all.

“I’m glad to hear it.” the Dark Elf said, a meek smile blooming on his face.

Gwen wasn’t as secretive as she would have liked to believe. Anyone who knew her could read her like an open book, her fears and worries written all over her face, embedded into her mannerism and the tone of her voice. Her bravery was a mere display to hide her cowardice and desire to run away. Yet she still held on, pushing forward through it all. And that alone made her the bravest person he ever had the honor to meet. 

They continued to eat and speak, Ornstein listening to their conversation, having little to add to it. He wanted to learn as much as he could about Skyrim, about the lands and the dangers lurking within. A rumor had circulated that day through the tavern, reaching his ears as well, gossip about a villager by the name of Silus, opening a museum revolved around a group of Daedra worshipers. That picked the former Dragonslayer’s interest. Daedra were many and dangerous, but he didn’t care. If it meant a chance to go back home, he would face even the Father of the Abyss.

✠♦✠

It was a cold night, the sky adorned with the stars, the Northern Lights and the two moons spreading their soft light upon the world below, snow sparkling all around. Tired people were walking back to their homes accompanied by sleepy neighbors, some needing to be carried on one’s shoulders after having one too many cups of mead, others singing old ballads with broken voices, hiccups sneaking their way between the notes. Ships swayed upon the sea, guards making their rounds with help from the guidance of the torchlights. On the hill overlooking the town, next to Morskom Estate, flames burned in the old lighthouse, a beacon of hope for faraway ships.

“Are you ok? You look rather distracted.” Gwen asked, looking up at the tall man’s face.

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I…I was thinking about something.” he said, returning her gaze.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Silence. He didn’t really want to burden her with his problems, as she had already done so much for him, but at the same time, he could really do with a listening ear at that moment.

“Let’s get home first.” he said, picking up his pace, eager to reach the nearest fireplace.

Gwen followed him, wondering what could be weighting on his mind.

At home, the fire was still burning, warming up the large hall and living room. Ornstein sighed in relief, making his way towards the chairs in front of the fireplace, while Gwen headed to the kitchen to prepare herself some more tea. As he stood there, waiting for her, his mind continued to ponder on the rumor. From what he managed to hear, nobody knew much about what his intentions actually were, apart from the fact that it had to do with the Daedra. Only the court wizard, Madena, seemed to know what was going on. The former Dragonslayer wasn’t acquainted with her, having heard about the sorceress mostly from Brina and Erandur. According to them, she was a war veteran, still scarred by the horrors she had seen and refused to take part in any more slaughter. He was wondering if he should go to her or directly to that Silus fellow, when Gwen came in, carrying two warm mugs of tea, the scent of snowberries floating in the air.

“Thought you might want some too.” she said, handing him one mug.

“Thank you.” he replied, taking it, the heat penetrating his skin in a pleasant way through the wooden container.

“No problem. Now, what is on your mind?” she asked, taking a seat in the other chair.

A moment of silence followed, with him still chastising himself for burdening her further, but he had come so far, and he needed to start doing something if he wanted to return home.

“I heard some rumors while we were at the tavern.” he began, looking down at his drink. “About a man named Silus opening a museum, here in Dawnstar.”

“Hm. Now that you mention it.” Gwen said, getting up from her seat. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a second.”

She placed her mug on the desk behind them and headed to the hallways, searching for her backpack. A whole day had passed, and yet she hadn’t unpacked at all. Even Ornstein’s armor was still in the container she had brought it in, not to mention all the ingredients she had brought from her travels. She would have to get to that before bed, but there were more important matters ahead. After rummaging a few seconds through the backpack, she found what she was looking for.

“Here it is.” she called out, coming back to him, waving a folded paper up. “While I was away, someone sent me an invitation to the opening of a museum, here.”

“I see. Does it say anything about the museum itself?” he asked.

“Only that it is dedicated to an old cult called the Mythic Dawn.” she said, reading the contents of the invitation.

“Mythic Dawn? Have you heard about it?”

“No. I’m afraid my knowledge in history is not as vast as I’d like. However, I think Erandur may know something.”

“I heard Madena, the court wizard may also have a clue about what is going on.”

“I see. That’s good. We should go see if she’s willing to speak with us, tomorrow morning.” Gwen said, letting out a sigh before sipping her tea.

“Is there something wrong? I can go alone if you want. After all, you just returned from a long journey. You deserve some rest.” Ornstein said, feeling guilty for putting this pressure on her.

He should have hid his feelings better and bring it up later, when she had recovered from her travels.

“It’s not that I don’t want to know what is going on. Dawnstar is my home after all. It’s…it’s just that…” Gwen protested, her gaze falling upon the fire. “I’m not fond of the jarl.” she almost whispered, as if there was someone in the room with them who would rat her out as soon as they left her lips.

“What do you mean?” Ornstein asked, confused.

Gwen sighed deeply before answering, her shoulders slacking.

“Let’s just say that I am not as invested in this war as he’d like me to be.” she said, trying to leave out as much information as possible.

“So, it’s a difference of opinion?”

“If only that. But alas, I believe it’s late and we need rest. Looks like tomorrow will be a busy day.” she said, ending the conversation.

She sat up, ready to leave, when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She turned around to see Ornstein staring at her, the look in his eyes reflecting mixed feelings of concern and guilt.

“Gwen, take the day off tomorrow and relax. I beg you.” he pleaded, his voice holding a softness she hardly heard from anyone.

“You sure you want to do this alone? I warn you, if the jarl sees you, he’ll do his best to make you join the Stormcloak army.” she said, fatigue washing over her.

She was tired, and wanted nothing but to rest, yet there was still so much to do.

“Don’t worry about me. You have no idea what I’ve been through back in Lordran.” he said, a chuckle escaping him.

Unless the jarl was a 5 year old kid, with silver hair, eyes of melted gold and heir of lightning, there was no way he’d give in.

After that discussion, they retreated each to their bedroom, the events of the day having taken their toll and them resting at last.


	8. Mehrunes’ Razor. Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, time to get things moving! Thanks for sticking by so far even thought it may have been kind of boring and feel free to let me know what you think of the story up to this point. Thank you very much once again ^^

One more look upon the golden metal, the ruby decorations, the intricate snarl of the ferocious beast, revealed not a blemish of dirt in sight. It had all been done with utmost care, not a detail overlooked. A bright smile graced Ornstein’s lips, the happiness in his heart growing bigger and bigger. He could hardly wait to meet with Alvor, the smith who managed to fix it and thank him for his work. But he wasn’t going to beg Gwen take him there, not when he asked so much of her already.

Sighing, he turned around from his armor and headed to the door, moonlight peering through the window, morning having yet to come. Passing through the plant-filled rooms and hallways, Ornstein inhaled the sweet-scented air. He was never one for gardening, and after a certain incident involving some less-than desirable plants and his best friend, he found the activity even less appealing. Yet, as he was surrounded by the multitude of colors he couldn’t help but relax, enjoy the sight, and wonder if it wasn’t too late to get into it.

As he approached the living room, he heard someone hum upstairs. Without a second thought, he climbed the stairs, his gaze directed towards the closed doors of the laboratory, light shining in the small gap above the floor. Slowly, he knocked at the door, trying not to startle the Nord woman inside.

“Gwen? Are you ok?”

No answer, but the humming continued. He took a moment to listen to the melody, leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed over his chest. From what he could hear, one thing was painfully clear. Gwen was tone-deaf, her voice rough and unsuited for ballads and songs. Still, he wasn’t going to be a jerk and tell her so. If she took joy in singing, he wasn’t going to take that away from her. He had already caused her enough troubles.

He left the spot, and headed back down, furrowing his brows when he saw the flames nearly dead in the fireplace. Quickly, he went to put some more logs on them, attempting to keep them alive. He didn’t want to deal with the cold so early in the morning. After ensuring that the flames wouldn’t die anytime soon, he went to prepare himself for the day, a bad feeling flourishing in the back of his mind.

✠♦✠

A foul stench rose from the concoction, the dark, murky color not at all what she expected it to be. One more look upon her notes, black ink writing more remarks next to the sketch of what was supposed to be a mudcrab’s chitin. Wooden bowls filled with different blossoms, crimson and blue liquids sparkled in transparent vials, lifeless irises staring at the world around them from behind glass, dirty scalpels and instruments littering the desk, while failed experiments were dumped in a container on the floor, soon to be discarded somewhere where none would have to suffer their stink. Gwen sighed, wiping the beads of sweat adorning her brow with the back of her sleeve, her pale skin finally getting a tint of color, her body burning from the heat in the laboratory. The window was wide open, but it did little to freshen the air inside, as if winter’s cold were so disgusted by the smell of the failed mixture that it refused to set foot inside.

Her stomach growled, and Gwen decided to finally take a break from her experiments. Looking in the small mirror next to the soul gem bowl, she grimaced at her reflection, her tangled hair, the bags under her eyes, sweat dripping down her face. If Ornstein were to see her like that, she feared he’d start worrying for her again. It wasn’t bad, to be cared for by another, but he already had enough problems to deal with and will have more once Skald the Elder saw him. It was obvious to anyone that he was a good warrior, he himself admitting to her that he served as a knight back in Lordran. And he was exactly what the jarl was looking for, an experienced fighter, tall and strong, someone to hopefully turn the tides of war in the favor of the Stormcloaks. She only hoped he was just as unmoving in his own ways as he said he was.

After fixing her image the best she could, she left her laboratory, heading down to the kitchen, her stomach continuing to beg for nutrition.

It was well into the afternoon, the house awfully silent, Ornstein having already left to speak with Madena, the Nord wishing him all the best in dealing with the jarl. On the way, she glanced over her plants, removing the withered blossoms, petals, and leaves where she could find them, making a mental note to return to them after she ate something.

As she entered the kitchen, someone knocked at the main door, the shy sound echoing through the empty hallway.

“Coming.” she called out, heading to the entrance.

When she opened it, in the doorway stood a man of Imperial descent, with long, brown hair combed back, eyes of the same color staring at her with a strange glee hidden behind them. He was wearing a strange, crimson robe underneath a red cape with golden sunrays embroidered on the top part, tied at the waist with a rather thin belt. He was smiling politely, but Gwen couldn’t help but get a bad feeling about him.

“H-hello? May I help you?” she asked, her hand reaching instinctively behind her back, to the dragger hidden in her shirt.

“Good morning miss Gwen. I don’t believe we’ve met so far. I am Silus Vesuius. It’s an honor to finally meet you.” he presented himself, reaching out a hand.

So that was Silus. Gwen would lie if she were to admit that she wasn’t a bit taken aback by his approach. It was rare for others to come knocking at her door unless they were friends. Some, like Serana, didn’t even bother doing that anymore, preferring to just barge in like they owned the place.

“I’m glad to meet you as well. To what do I own this visit?” she inquired, removing her hand from her back, yet remained on edge.

“Forgive me for not introducing myself for so long.” Silus said, looking away from her. “I’m afraid I’m not the most…social of people.”

“T-that’s ok. I’m not really that much into socializing either.” Gwen stuttered, smiling awkwardly.

She had been living in Dawnstar for about six years, mostly locked up in her house, or better said, laboratory, rather than going out to socialize. She would lend a hand to those in need, sure, but other than that, she didn’t really interact much with them, least . Only Serana, Erandur, Ahkari and a few other friends managed to get her out of her burrow whenever they came for a visit.

Suddenly, something clicked into her mind, making her exclaim loudly.

“You’re the one who opened the museum!”

A wide smile began to show on his face hearing her.

“Yes, I am. I am also glad to see that you heard about it. Actually,” he paused, hesitating a bit before continuing his thought, “it is also the reason why I have come to seek you today. May I please invite you for a cup of tea at my place? If it’s not too much of a bother, of course.”

Gwen was about to decline. She and Ornstein had already agreed that they would investigate after he had talked with Madena and find out more about the Mythic Dawn. She also wanted to have a bit more time to rest and make herself more presentable. Even if she didn’t care much for appearances, she still didn’t feel right walking around with her clothes stained with plant sap, powders, and a crimson substance she did not care to name didn’t appeal to her much. Suddenly, her stomach began grumbling again, louder than before, causing her face to burn crimson red, wishing the earth could swallow her whole.

“I also have some sweetrolls if you’d like.” Silus added.

At that, the woman nodded, stepping out into the cold air of the Pale, the Imperial already heading down the stone stairs, to the village bellow. 

Looks like things were going to move faster than intended.

✠♦✠

Ornstein was grateful to be out of the White Hall, the jarl’s burning stare and constant speeches of Ulfric’s righteousness and how the dragon menace would be over once Skyrim was free from the Empire’s grasp. The former Dragonslayer was a mere stranger, however, with no plans to stay more than he needed to. Thus he cared not about this dispute. Though he had some compassion for humans, he had no interest in helping them settle their matters. He would gladly aid Gwen, for he owned her a lot, and if Erandur was going to ever be in need, he’d lend a hand, no question asked. But this war was theirs to fight and he was determined not to get involved.

“Here we are.” Madena spoke, pulling the former Dragonslayer out of his reverie.

The sorceress led him to a secluded part of the village, past the small port and the mines, to a place where the horkers gathered to rest before they departed once more to hunt for food.

It was a good place to talk, away from snooping ears and eyes.

The Breton turned to look at him, her hazel eyes filled with sadness.

“You wanted to know more about Silus, right?” she asked, Ornstein nodding in affirmation.

A deep sigh escaped her lips, her eyes shifting from him to the horkers and the sea, the creatures paying them no mind.

“He hails from one of the oldest families in Dawnstar. They have a… complicated story. His ancestors…they were part of an old Daedric Cult, fortunately already gone, called the Mythic Dawn. Have you ever heard of it?”

The Dragonslayer shook his head.

“Not a scholar of history, I see. That’s for the best. They are a group best left forgotten. The only thing you should know about them is that they almost destroyed the world, but they were stopped, a long time ago.”

“And this museum that Silus has opened…?” Ornstein inquired, shivers begging to run down his spine.

“He’s being misguided. Years after the Oblivion Crisis has ended, we found out about the role his family had in the ordeal, and once we did, they were ruined. Everyone shunned them, hated them, wouldn’t talk to them unless to holler insults and threats. Those were very dark times for them. Silus hopes that by opening this museum, he’ll be able to clean their ancestor’s name and restore their pride. I fear he might be under the control of a Daedra. How else could he think suck madness would work?” Madena asked, turning to look at the man, tears sparkling in the pale light of day.

Ornstein didn’t answer. Anger began to burn inside him at the mention of those demons. If Madena was right, then he pitied Silus, he, himself, being a victim of their stupid games.

He tried to comfort the sorceress who was crying now, but his mind was constantly flying back to the topic of the Daedra and the museum, wondering if he should drag Gwen into this. But he needed help. He had no idea how to deal with such creatures and he doubted pummeling it to the ground, as he would love to, would work well. He may have had a god’s soul, bestowed upon him by Lord Gwyn himself, but he was no deity. He doubted that he could face them on his own without the proper knowledge. By the gods, this situation couldn’t be more complicated.

✠♦✠

Silus’ home was located at the end of the village, consisted of only one, large room, the bed, table and closets placed in the right part, the left dedicated entirely to the museum he had opened, displaying items such as robes, books and pages from an ancient manuscript, all belonging to the Mythic Dawn cult. On the walls, there were crimson banners with a golden, setting sun on them. Everything had been kept in pristine condition, even the torn files had been taken care of so that they wouldn’t degrade any further. The Imperial had been more than eager to give her a short history on every display as she drank tea and strolled through the museum.

“And here, ” he added, walking over to the last piece on show, a dark scabbard with silver edges, the symbol of Oblivion encrusted in the middle, “is the very scabbard of Mehrunes Dagon’s razor.”

Gwen raised an eyebrow at his statement. Granted, she had seen Daedric artifacts in her travels, having two hidden in her own home, but she had her doubt that this item before her was genuine.

Silus saw the hesitation in her eyes and began talking again with even more vigor than before. 

“Oh, I know that it’s sorry state leaves much to be desired, but I can assure you, it’s the real deal.” he exclaimed, nearly startling the young woman.

“If you say so.” Gwen nodded, leaving his side, and walking over to the table, to put down her empty mug. “So, tell me, Silus,” she began, turning slowly to face him again, “why did you want to show me your museum? What is it you’re after?”

Gwen was naïve, a fault she had to acknowledge about herself, but she was no fool. No one sought her just to see how she was doing. They always wanted something. Her suspicions were only confirmed when a wide grin appeared on Silus’ face.

“I’m glad you brought it up.” he spoke, still grinning. “A little history, first. After the Oblivion Crisis, a number of groups cropped up dedicated to wiping out the remnants of the Mythic Dawn. One of these groups found Mehrunes' Razor, the artifact of Dagon. They split it into three fragments and pledged to keep them apart forever. That was almost 150 years ago, and the pieces are still being held by the descendants of the group. And they're right here, in Skyrim.”

“So you want me to gather those fragments for you?” Gwen asked.

“Yes. At least two of them, Ghunzul and Drascua, are dangerous marauders. And the third owner, Jorgen, I only know he lives in Morthal. Here are my notes about them.” Silus said, pulling a notebook from one of the robe’s hidden pockets and handing it to her. “I'll gladly pay you for getting the pieces any way you can. No questions asked.”

Gwen took the notebook and flipped through the pages, considering her options. Truth be told, she was in no mood for another adventure so soon. She sighed, closing the file.

“I will think about it and give you an answer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home.” she said, trying to hold back the need to stretch her limbs.

“Alright, I’ll wait for your answer then. Have a good afternoon.” Silus wished her, as he led her outside, hope obvious in his stare.

The road home was quiet, Gwen being lost in her thoughts, pondering what had transpired. If Silus’ words were true, and he was indeed a descendant of the Mythic Cult member’s then it came as no surprise that he’d have a piece of the real thing. However, where there was a Daedric artifact, there had to be its master as well. The Dragonborn had it on good authority that Mehrunes Dagon was behind all this, pulling the strings behind Silus’ desire to restore the artifact and as always this was just a pretext for something else, but what?

At the base of the stone stairs, leading up to the Morskom Estate, someone called out to her, and when she turned to look, she hadn’t watched her step, tripping over her foot. She squeezed her eyes, ready for the impact which…surprisingly never came.

“Hey, are you ok?” Ornstein asked, voice filled with worry.

He managed to catch her in time, his arm wrapped around her waist to stop the fall. He knew Gwen was petite, but as he held her now, he was stunned to realize how small she really was.

“Thanks. You saved me a few bruises there.” Gwen spoke, getting back up on her feet.

“You’re welcome. Is everything ok? You look a bit… distressed?” he asked.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” she assured him as they both began to walk up to the estate. “By the way, it seems like our plans have been pushed forward a bit.”

“What do you mean?” he inquired; brows furrowed.

“I’ll explain it inside…” Gwen said, her stomach suddenly growling, hunger rearing its ugly head.

The Nord cussed in her mind. She ate nothing while at Silus’ home, more preoccupied with the museum to think about food. Now she was suffering the consequences.

“And after we eat something.” she added, looking down at her feet, quickening her pace.

Thank the Divines she had the foresight to buy some food before returning. She only hoped that it was still good.

Behind her, Ornstein tried not to chuckle, keeping a straight face as he followed her. But his newfound amusement didn’t last much, worries beginning to gnaw at him again. Something in Gwen’s demeanor worried him. Just what could have they be getting themselves into?


	9. Mehrunes’ Razor. Part 2

“So, he wants you to go and gather the pieces of this…what did you call it, again?”

“Mehrunes’ Razor.” Gwen answered, taking another bite of her stew.

“Right.” Ornstein lowered his gaze to his tea, his thoughts rushing through his mind without respite. “And are you sure it is truly a Daedric Artifact? What if he was lying? Or delusional?” he added, recalling what Madena had told him on the shores.

If her concerns were actually valid and Silus was indeed under the influence of a Daedra, then it wasn’t out of the question for him to believe that a mere twig would be an artifact of great power. The former Dragonslayer had seen worse cases of hallucinating humans in his lifetime. Sometimes, they were fun to watch, other times, annoying and in some cases, the mortals had to be put down before they committed the atrocious sin of raising their hand against the gods. Pitiful, really.

“Possibly. Maybe if it were fixed it would live up to its name and reputation but given its current state…” the Nord replied, finishing her meal.

A pale, pink blush ran across her face, from the warmth of the stew still traveling through her body. She got up, grabbed the empty bowl, and went to place them in the water filled bucket then grabbed herself another mug of tea, before returning back to the seat. She thought of the book hidden in the basement, beneath a trap door and protected by frost wards, the covers made out of elf skin, stitched together in a gruesome display. A horrible thing really. The power of Hermaeus Mora, his infinite knowledge trapped within those pages, ready to grant insight to all who read it at the cost of their sanity. A Daedric Artifact is a powerful thing, filled with the energy of their creators, helping or hindering all those which got a hold of them. Gwen didn't really know what to think of Silus' story. If it was true, then she had no choice but to get involved. She had no knowledge on the razor and what powers it had, but whatever it was, knowing its master, it couldn't be anything good, the worst scenarios playing in her head.

"So, what are you going to do?" Ornstein asked.

"I think..." Gwen began, looking at the window nearby, outside where it began to snow again, "I think I'm going to accept his offer." she said, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "The Daedra's are cunning creatures, with little regard for others. If Dagon is indeed behind this, then after he gets what he wants..." she took a deep breath before continuing, "Silus will be disposed of." Like Hermaeus Mora did with Septimus. 

Ornstein stiffened in his chair. Disposed of. The words rang in his ears, leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Back in Lordran's days of glory, it was no secret that some of the gods saw humans as nothing but playthings, toys to be used and then abandoned as one saw fit. Lord Gwyn allowed them to do such to a certain extend, interfering only when they strayed too far and innocent blood began to flow. He still remembered the aftermath of the time one god's crimes had been revealed, the storms which raged endlessly for weeks until the trial was settled and the deity had met their end at the hands of the Executioner. He had a low opinion of the Daedra, but this was just adding fuel to the fire. 

"Wouldn't it be better to deny it, then?" he said, drawing the woman's gaze to him. "Or try to persuade him to give up?"

"If I don't accept it then someone else will." she stated, sadness reflected in her eyes. "And I doubt Silus would change his mind. He's not like the others. He doesn't want to restore the artifact to gain some forbidden power. At least, he didn't give me impression that he was."

Madena had said it too. He wanted to restore his family's honor. A noble wish. It was sad and despicable that those demons were using it to control him. 

"Then I'm coming with you." he said after a few minutes of silence. "I will help you retrieve the pieces. It's the least I could do to return the kindness you've shown me."

"Are you sure? Your wounds have healed well indeed, but you might still need some rest." she replied, throwing him a concerned look. 

"Don't worry about me. I fought in wars with wounds more serious than this." he assured her, a smile making its way on his lips.

It's been a long time since anyone had cared for him, centuries of silence and empty halls almost making him forget how it was to have someone be concerned for him. He was never alone. Smough sharing in his duty to guard the Lord Vessel and he played that part wonderfully so. No one could stand against the two. Ornstein's agility combined with the Executioner's slow but highly damaging hits making for a deadly combination. As the challenger was struggling to avoid one's attack, they were left with no chance to defend against the other. Perhaps it was the strength of their combined skills that helped them get over their mutual feelings of ire. Or maybe it was the loneliness that plagued them both. Still, they knew better than try and become friends for their mission did not allow such things. There were only two outcomes to their task, neither pleasant and allowing them a happy end. Either die at the hands of the undead who was meant to take the Lord Vessel and join Lord Gwyn as kindling to the fading flame, or disappear as the Age of Fire came to an end, bringing along the demise of all gods, them included. Thus, neither of them tried to deepen their acquaintance, staying distant and detached. Why create more pain when there was already so much?

Now, though he knew this feeling won't last, that as soon as he returned to Lordran he would never see Gwen, Erandur or the others again, he was tired of keeping up walls, or trying to stay detached. He longed for a connection, a friendship, something to soothe the ache inside. He had lost too much already, his friends, his Lord, his family. He wanted something different for once and even if it wasn't meant to last, he would be glad to know that at least it happened. Thus he allowed himself to smile and find comfort in the woman' feelings. After centuries of forced solitude, he wanted to have someone whom he could call a friend, even for a short while. 

Gwen fell silent, looking at him with a somewhat distrustful gaze mixed with concern. Still, she didn't say anything against it, only sighed. 

"Ok. I'll make the preparations. We'll be leaving in 2 days." she said, returning her attention to the tea growing cold. 

"Alright. If there's anything I can help you with, don't hesitate to ask." Ornstein offered. 

"Thanks." she replied, keeping her head low. "In the meantime, do you want to read Silus' notes on the owners?" she asked, looking up at him, reaching out for the notebook by her side.

"I would love to." he said, accepting the book. 

After the meal, they both retreated to different rooms, Gwen to the laboratory to prepare potions for the journey, while Ornstein went to the living room, sitting in front of the fireplace, and reading the notes. At night, they went to the tavern to dine, Erandur, Serene and her husband, Rustleif, accompanying them on the way and inside. They talked and laughed, listening to the tales of the blacksmith about his time in Hammerfell, his wife teasing him now and then, sharing with others the parts he wanted to leave out, of his awkward courting methods. In the background, others screamed in joy, miners danced and sang along with the bard, while the fire was burning and the ale was flowing.

✠♦✠

The weight of the metal, the rustling of the cloth beneath the armor, it felt awfully nostalgic to feel them again. The snarling feline was staring at him from its place on the bed, but he didn't want to put it on just yet. He moved around the room, a smile blooming at the corners of his lips as his steps made no sound, like a lion in the wilds, hunting for prey. He stretched out his arms, the golden gauntlets shimmering in the pale, early morning light filtering in the room through the uncovered window. He reached out to grab his spear, but of course, it wasn't there. Pain pierced his heart at the painful reminder of its loss. Tears threatened to come out, but he fought them with everything he had. In truth, he should have gotten rid of it long ago, right after his betrayal, but he was unable to. Too many memories were tied to it, smiles and tears, sentiments which he just couldn't part with despite his efforts. It was the only thing soothing the wound left by what happened that day. Now that it was completely gone...

A loud crash followed by curses pulled him out of his thoughts. Worried, he ran downstairs to see what was going on. At the door, he saw Gwen lying on the floor before an opened closet, buried by a mess of weapons, axes, swords and bows.

"You ok? What happened here?" he asked, rushing over to help her. 

"Yeah, just...just forgot that there was a reason why I don't open this dra...." she stopped, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the armored man. 

This wasn't the first time she saw him like this, but back then, he was unconscious, and a mess. Now, he looked like a knight straight out of a legend. The golden color of the armor was fitting wonderfully with his amber eyes and scarlet hair. He tilted his head in confusion, her silence making him worry.

"You ok?" he asked, his gaze traveling to a small bruise on the side of her forehead, a small injury compared to what it could have been.

It was a miracle the blades hadn't cut her at all. 

"Ah...yeah...s-sorry...a bit taken aback by...this..." she said, quickly getting up on her feet with his help. "I know I said this before but, Alvor truly did an amazing job." she added, looking once more over the fine work, the chest piece which used to be ruined, now was as good as new.

Had she not seen the sorry condition it was in before, she wouldn't have known that it was fixed.

Ornstein smiled, nodding in agreement. 

"If it isn't too much to ask, would it be possible for you to introduce me to him? I wish to thank him in person." 

"Of course. Riverwood is on the way to Falkreath anyway. I'm sure he'll be happy to met you as well." the Nord replied with a grin. "And...um...you can let go of me now." she stated, a crimson tint blooming on her cheeks. 

One of Ornstein's arms was wrapped around her waist, while the other was holding her hand, ready to catch her should she stumble and fall in the sharp mess of blades. He hadn't realized that he was still holding onto her, his face turning red as the awareness hit him. Still, he didn't let go right away, He picked her up, once again amazed at how light she was, and placed her away from the pile of weapons sprawled on the floor. She thanked him, her visage still pink as a rose's petals. 

"No need." he replied, looking down at the swords, axes and bows. "That's...a lot of weapons you have there." he said, bending down to pick up a great sword. 

He unsheathe it, admiring the blade shimmering in the candlelight. It was a fine weapon, heavy, a bit dull but it could be easily fixed, made of silver with the handle covered in black strips of leather. The blade was adorned with curved patterns, making it look beautiful and elegant. He thought of his dear friend and how much he would have liked it. As it was made for humans, it was a bit difficult for him to use but with some exercise, he was sure it would serve him just fine.

"Yeah....I traveled a lot and well...I remembered that you don't have a weapon and I..." Gwen said, the last sentence being mostly a whisper. 

Again, pain tugged at his heart. 

"Thank you. It's very thoughtful of you." he said, his tone low and heartfelt. "This one will do just fine." he motioned to the great sword he was holding.

He didn't look at her, not wanting her to see the tears blurring his vision. Was it the pain of the loss, or the gratefulness to her kindness that brought them forth? He no longer knew.

"There is a grindstone in the backyard." the woman said, walking past him to clean up the mess. "I'll clean up this mess, and then we can go." 

The knight nodded and headed out. He was not one for the cold, but now, he welcomed its chill embrace, the harshness resonating with his tormented heart.

As the wheel was spinning, crimson sparks flying everywhere around him, his thoughts flew back to those days, back to the time of the Dragon War, when every morning could be last and nothing could be taken for granted. The battle was dragging on, many good men and women having fallen at the fangs and claws of those stone beasts. It was a hard period, one few remembered fondly, including him. Beneath smiles and words of encouragements, despair was brewing like a poison. However, there was someone back then, someone who provided everyone, especially him, with genuine hope and happiness, keep alive the desire to see it to the end without fail. 

Gwynsen was but a mere child, firstborn and heir to Lord Gwyn's lightning, full of life and with all the promises of the new world his father planned to create laid before him. Yet...he was not blind to his people's plight, to the destruction and suffering, and sought to help in any way he could, but there was little he could do. Or so everyone thought, until that day happened. 

Ornstein wondered on the prince by complete accident. He didn't even expect to find the young boy in his office. Gwynsen was sitting on his chair, looking over the maps of Lordran and the lands surrounding it, his fingers tracing the outline of the mountains, the hills and forests of Archtrees. The map had different marks on it, from the positions of the troupes to the places where those beasts last attacked, looking for prey. The knight knew that look very well, having seen it enough when the two were playing Chess or some other strategic game. Silently, as to not disrupt him, Ornstein walked behind the boy, hands clasped behind his back, and waited. He knew what was going to happen next, a smile already appearing at the corners of his mouth, a voice in the back of his mind telling him that they were going to win that war much sooner than expected.

✠♦✠

Gwen was waiting for him at the front door, reading a book as she leaned against the wall. She was wearing a black armor, fur sewn in the fabric around her neck, leathers and thick fabrics covering her torso. The skirt was reaching her ankles, slit on the sides to allow better movement. Her face was covered in blue lines making out the warpaint he had seen adorning her face the first time he saw her. A leather backpack was resting at her feet and his helmet resting on the bench next to her. 

"Ready to go?" she asked, looking up at him from between the pages. "Oh, I went and grabbed it for you. Hope you don't mind." she added, motioning to it.

"Thanks." he replied, picking it up. "Now, let's go gather those pieces" he said as his face disappeared behind the lionide visage.

"Couldn't have said it better, comrade." Gwen stated with a smile as she picked up the backpack. 

Their first destination was Morthal where Jorgen lived and it was also the closest to Dawnstar. They walked along the shores, snow falling from the sky like a gentle rain. Despite that, the weather was tame and the temperature was not as low as the previous weeks. Snow sabre cats and ice wolves would attack them now and then, but it wasn't anything they couldn't deal with. Though he didn't have his beloved spear, Ornstein was still powerful, disposing of the beasts with ease. He kept an eye out for Gwen, ready to help should need be. He doubted her skill not, but years of fighting and losing brothers in arms had left their mark on him. 

The Nord was fast, slicing the creatures left and right, not giving them time to react, following each attack with a blast of ice taking on the form of lances. Ornstein watcher her in awe, mesmerized by the beautiful spells and the efficiency with which she used them. Her experience shone with each action, but to his keen eye, the hesitation did not go unnoticed. Nor did the roughness of her moves. She was indeed good with the weapon, her agility undeniable, but it was clear that she had little training in the proper ways of using a sword. 

After getting rid of another sabre cat, as Gwen was cleaning the blood from her blade using the piles of snow nearby, Ornstein looked in the distance at the restless waves. The snow storm had stopped falling at last, the once grey colored skies having returned to their pale, blue tinge. 

"Did you teach yourself how to wield a sword?" he found himself asking, turning to look at her. 

"Yeah." she replied, putting it back in its scabbard. "A retired soldier showed me a few moves years ago. After that, I had study further on my own." 

On her own...again.

"I quit after a while though, after I was accepted at the College of Winterhold." she continued, walking over to stand by him, her gaze locked on the distant horizons "I was convinced that I wouldn't have to pick it up ever again, but fate is a funny thing you see..." she paused, her brows furrowed, "it has a way of subverting your expectations to put it simply."

Subverting your expectations...Ornstein smiled. That couldn't be more true.

"But enough of that. Let's get going. We still have a long way till we reach Morthal."

The knight nodded and followed her. The rest of the journey was relatively short and uneventful, no predators daring to cross their path. They passed by shipwrecks and ancient ruins, continuing forwards until they reached a large swamp, around midday. Clear waters were running among the small patches of land adorning the scenery, the rays of the afternoon sun dancing on the surface. Flower of all colors were standing out among the dull grass, all having the same form, resembling a bell. The area was silent, yet it reeked of danger, the bland scenery making it ideal for predators to lay in wait. Gwen led the way, pointing now and then at a mudcrab half burrowed in the earth, lying in wait for prey, their greyish coloration making them hard to see.

"When I was a child, I once got too close and one of them caught me by the ankle and broke it. We were too far from the town and Fjorn couldn't carry me all the way there so we made camp by some of the ruins and rested there until I healed well enough to walk." she told him, as they passed by another mudcrab.

"In Lordran, we have these creatures called mimics. They imitate treasure chests and we used them to trick thieves who broke into the palace. As soon as they opened it, the monster would grab them and pull them into its mouth." Ornstein said, remembering the traps he himself had set up along the Cathedral using those dreadful creatures.

In truth, telling them apart from real chests wasn't that hard, the position of the chain always giving them away and if one paid great attention, they could actually see it breathing. But of course, most mortals were too blinded by their own greed to care about anything else, and thus easily fell prey to the mimic's jaws. 

"Ugh! Glad there are no such things in Skyrim. We have enough troubles already." the Nord replied, shrugging at the thought of the beings.

Though she wasn't proud of it, looting had been and still was her main source of income. Trading gained her little in matters of septims as with the current affairs, not many travelers were on the roads, thus merchants had suffered great losses. She sold some of her potions now and then, but again, it wasn't enough and sometimes it wasn't even worth it, having to reduce the price of a high-quality concoction drastically most of the time. Sure, she could become a bounty hunter, but the rewards were a joke compared to the danger one had to endure to earn it. 100 septims for taking on an entire bandit camp? That was outrageous! 

"They were kind of a bother sometimes to be honest. They would sometimes stroll through the palace and steal anything they could get their hands on and store it in their mouths and retrieving them was always a pain since they would hide after that." the knight commented, recalling the day one tried to steal Havel's dragon tooth.

The Bishop could never stand the mimics to begin with and that incident only added more fuel to his hatred for them. He had begged Lord Gwyn to get rid of them, but unfortunately, his pleas were rejected each time. For all the trouble they caused, they were still useful and disposing of them seemed like a waste. Thus, they had to make do with the pests, whether they liked it or not. 

"In that case all the more reason to be glad that I won't have to deal with them ever. My wards are more than enough to protect my belongings." Gwen said, walking ahead. 

From where they were, the lion knight could already see what had to be Morthal come into view. It was a rather small town from what one could make out from outside, surrounded by a wooden fence, guards standing vigilant at the entrance. Though their eyes were hardly seen through the darkness of their helmets, Ornstein still felt their gaze on him as he and Gwen passed by them. Barely had they got away, when the guards started talking, words such as "Imperial army" and "captain" reaching his ears. He ignored them, continuing to follow the Nord further into the town. 

The roads were adorned with plants, blue and white delighting one's vision with their vibrant beauty. But they did little in alleviating the melancholy dominating over the poor settlement. In the center of the town, gathered in front of the Jarl's house was a small gathering of people, their dissatisfied voices reaching the two travelers. The men seemed to be the loudest, while the women were staring at them, concern written all over their faces. Children were running around, but as soon as they approached the group, parents would usher them away, adults telling them to go back home. 

"What is the Jarl going to do about this?" someone from the crowd asked. 

"Please, everyone calm down. The Jarl has it all under control." someone else replied, but his words did little to calm the fiery spirits. 

They began to argue with him, the air filled with their anger and demands for something to be done. The two stared at the fight, unsure what to do. Should they turn around and leave? Or stay and risk getting dragged in whatever was going on there? Before they could decide however, someone called out to the Dragonborn. 

"Gwen!" 

Both turned around in time to see a small girl rush towards them across a wooden bridge, arms spread wide. As she was running, she tripped on her long, brown dress. She tried to regain her balance but that only changed the direction of her fall, lunging her in the pond below. She braced herself for the impact, squeezing her eyes shut, but it never came. 

"Now, now. You should be more careful when running." a voice came from above her.

She opened her eyes and looked out, jaw dropping at the sight of the golden knight holding her in his arms. He was soooo tall! And cool!

"T-thank you, sir!" she said as he let her down gently, amazement still plastered on her face.

"You're welcome." he replied, ruffling her hair. 

"Helgi! How many times have I told you to stop causing trouble?" a woman from the crows said, striding over to the trio. 

"It's ok, Leah." Gwen interfered, stepping between the mother and child. "She didn't do anything wrong." she said, the young girl wrapping her arms around her waist. "See? She's just a child after all. Go easier on her."

"She's already 10, Gwen. You have to stop treating her like a baby." Leah argued. 

Her irritation was gone, but she still stood firm in her belief that Helgi had to be scolded. 

"But I'm afraid this is not a suitable place for conversations right now. Please, follow me." the woman said, throwing a quick glance behind her, before ushering the three into her house. 

The men were still busy yelling at the Jarl's steward, the man looking at the guards nearby for help, but they stood still like statues. As long as things did not escalate, there was no reason for them to get involved. Thankfully, no one paid attention to them and as usual, her husband , Hroggar, was nowhere to be seen. She tried not to cry, deep down the knowledge of what was going on tearing her heart apart. Yet, she denied it, closed her eyes and chased any thought of it out of her mind. One day she will confront him and put an end to it, but till then, she had to be strong for her daughter, for herself. With a deep sigh, she turned and followed the other's inside, leaving behind the troubles weighting on her chest.

Leah and Helgi's house was small and modest, consisting of only a room, with two beds on each side, a table and four chairs in the middle, fire burning in the hearth on the wall opposite of the door. As soon as Gwen and Ornstein sat down, the girl began to shower him with a myriad of questions, about himself, his armor, where he was coming from, barely giving him any time to answer. Her mother scolded her, but even so she didn't stop, her curiosity getting the best of her. 

"It's ok, Madam." the knight assured, his smile hidden behind his helmet. "Little one, do you want to hear a story? About a young child who helped save a great kingdom?" he asked, shifting his attention to Helgi.

She nodded enthusiastically, settling in the chair near him, listening closely as he began to tell her about some of the glorious days of the dragon war, about his comrades and the genius of prince Gwynsen who helped turn the tides of battle in their favor. Helgi was captivated not only by the tale, but by the boy and his knight as well. She dared not interrupt him at all, her mind too busy creating images of the brave soldiers fighting the vile beasts. 

Gwen watched him, wishing to listen to the story as well, but unfortunately, she couldn't as there were other, more pressing matters at hand. She got up from her seat and walked over to her friend, Leah, who was staring out the window, her blue eyes carrying a deep sadness within. 

"What is going on, Leah? What were the men talking about earlier?" she asked, fearing the worst.

"Nothing but baseless rumors and old tales." the woman replied, frowning as she spoke. "Falion, Jonna's brother, has moved in town not long ago. He's a mage, specialized in the art of Conjuration. I suppose you know what that means."

And Gwen did, a lump forming in her throat. Out of all the schools of magic, Conjuration was the most despised one due to its association with Necromancy. Many feared its power, its ties to the Oblivion planes and the creatures lurking within. In a sense, they were justified in their fear, for all magic was dangerous in its nature, volatile and sometimes uncontrollable. One mistake was enough to ruin everything. But fear often turned to hatred and hatred never led to anything good. 

"Add the dragons and the war to that and everyone is one step away from losing their minds." Leah continued, her shoulders slumping as she spoke. "I've grown tired of shaking in fear every knight, wondering if a dragon will attack, or watching the swamp, looking for Stormcloak troops, coming to conquer Morthal." she said, a tear running down her cheeks.

She wiped it away quickly, afraid that her daughter might see it. She didn't want to appear weak, couldn't afford to. 

Gwen looked down at the floor, shame gnawing at her insides. She wanted to say something, encourage, comfort, anything, but they all felt like empty promises, flowery lies that no one would believe. She was the Dragonborn, the one meant to deal with the dragon menace and put an end to it. And yet, she stalled, hesitated, hid behind excuses, trying to delay the dreadful confrontation. Meanwhile, everyone else suffered, prayed for salvation to whichever Divine cared enough to listen. But listen is all they cared to do. No miracle, no sign of good will on their part. Nothing. 

"By the way," Leah began, changing the subject, "who is your new friend?" she asked, throwing a glance towards Ornstein and Helgi. "He's not from Skyrim, is he?"

"No. His name is Ornstein. It's a... long story." the Nord said, a grin tugging at her lips when she looked at the two. 

She didn't know what brought more joy upon her, seeing Helgi's wide smile or how happy Ornstein seemed to be, telling the story. 

"I see. And what bring the two of you to Morthal? Surely, you're not her for the sights." Leah inquired further.

"I'm looking for Jorgen. Someone asked me to retrieve something from him." Gwen replied, keeping it short. 

Leah had enough to worry about already. She didn't need to be burdened with the plots of the Daedra and their schemes. 

"Well, if you want to talk to him, you should get going." the woman said, looking out the window. "He's going to the mill right now. Go talk to him, get what you want and leave this place as soon as you can. They haven't forgotten about Fjorn, Gwen." she added, shifting her gaze from the outside scenery to the girl next to her. "Nor about you."

The Nord swallowed a lump in her throat. 

"It was self-defense." she said, her voice trembling as she spoke.

"I know, Gwen, but whether we like it or not, they don't care. Fjorn was a witch and she killed someone and that's all that matters to them." Leah stated, peering into the younger woman's pale blue eyes. "Now go and prepare yourself. Jorgen doesn't seem to be in good spirits." 

Without saying another word, the Dragonborn lowered her head and went outside, an avalanche of memories falling over her like a crushing wave as she stepped into the village which years ago shunner her and her teacher. A crime without malice, a murder committed by accident. On the surface, things were simple, the good and the bad clear as daylight, but once one dug beneath the mud of prejudice, searching for the truth, what came out was much more complicated. Yet just as Leah had said, no one cared to know what really happened. A witch killed one of their own. What her reasons were to commit such an act, nobody bothered to understand and why should they, when hating and shunning was so much easier? 

Gwen shook her head, trying to stop those memories and thoughts from leeching into her mind any longer. There was no use thinking about the past now. Only the present and the future, the only things which could be changed had any weight at that moment. 

"Jorgen! A moment please!" she called out to the man, thinking not of the hatred and disgust she had seen in those eyes the last time they met, but only of the exhaust and defeat she witnessed now.


	10. Mehrunes’ Razor. Part 3

Shortly after Gwen left to talk to Jorgen, Helgi was called out to play by some of her friends, now that the adults had finished their meeting. She didn't waste any second to answer the summon, eager to share the story she had just learned from the giant knight with them, her departure leaving a heavy silence in the room. Ornstein shifted in his seat uncomfortably, curiosity nagging at him constantly. He heard enough of the two women's conversation to put him on edge, to awaken a string of questions about Gwen, about what happened here. He wanted to ask Leah about it, but he wished not pry, especially not this way. It would be disrespectful to talk about what looked like private matters to someone else apart from the Dragonborn. He tried to ignore the intrigue, but that was easier said than done. 

In the end, Leah, who had not moved from the window, continuing to watch the life going on outside those four walls, began to speak.

"So, what do you think of Morthal? Quite a place, huh?" she asked, a note of sarcasm hanging in her voice.

"It's...interesting." the knight replied. not wanting to be rude.

"A nice way of saying bland, I suppose." she said, a slight smile tugging at her lips, only to fade as quickly as it came. "Has Gwen shown you around the swamp? She's more familiar with it than even the oldest folk here. They fear exploring it, you know? Too many ruins and places with a dark past like the hanging tree and the cave which used to be some vampire's lair."

"I'm afraid we don't have the time to sight see." he answered.

He did notice some of the ruins Leah mentioned, having also passed by what looked like a ceremonial ground on the way here. However, neither he nor Gwen stopped to admire or chat about them, their mission taking precedence over anything else. 

"So you headed straight to the town? I guess that's for the best. Lately, there have been rumors of dragons lurking near the ruins." she said.

Ornstein frowned. Their first priority was to gather the pieces of Mehrunes' razor, but leaving the town at the mercy of one of those hateful beasts didn't sit right with him. The blade by his side weighted heavier than before. Gwen was gone now. If he went by himself, maybe he could deal with it before she returned. Though with his sense of orientation, he might get lost....

Before he could decide, however, Leah began to speak again, turning to face him, tears glistering in her eyes.

"Please, don't believe what you're going to hear about Gwen. She is a good woman, even if she was raised by a witch." she pleaded.

Ornstein froze in place, looking at the woman, intrigue screaming at him, pushing him to ask for more. He ignored it however, as best as he could.

"Her upbringing matters not to me. I've seen her kindness and know she has a good heart. If her parentage is her only sin, then that is the least of my concerns." he said, folding his arms as he spoke. 

Witches were respected in Lordran, the Witch of Izalith being not only one of the Four Lords, wielding the Soul of Life, but she was also a close friend of Lord Gwyn, she and her daughter having offered great support during the war. He, himself, was well acquainted with some of them, Quelaag and Quelina having been the ones he was the closest to. Of course, there were many who feared their craft, but there just as many who adored and worshiped them for their power, seeking to learn their secrets. But again, the laws of Skyrim were different and what he was taught to respect in Lordran, here it was despised. Why? 

A sob pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked at Leah, amazed to find her sitting on the bed with her face covered by her hands, her shoulders shaking from the sobs she tried to subdue but failed. She repeated over and over again, "it was not their fault". Without thinking, Ornstein got up and went to comfort the distressed woman, questions swirling in his mind even more violently than before.

Just what had happened?

✠♦✠

Jorgen stared at the woman, yet another one of the Jarl's failures. Beneath her grown up exterior he could still see traces of the scared, trembling child she had once been, running away from the village more than 10 years ago. Ah, he still remembered that day, when all the people unified under one purpose. To rid the swamp of that cursed witch. She tried to plead her case, defend herself, but Jorgen had seen her burn old Havier with her spells, injuring him beyond saving. He did not let himself be swayed by her honeyed words, clenching his axe as he rushed to avenge his comrade. Unfortunately, the woman had escaped, along with her child. They searched the swamp in the days to follow, determined to have her pay for her crime, but alas, it was in vain. They had known better than to linger in that hold and risk getting themselves murdered. As time went by, he abandoned any thought of them, everyday life having enough trouble with a leader that cared not for her people even as the war raged on and dragons burned the land. 

Now, as he saw the adult the child from back then had become, all those feelings had resurfaced, but he was too tired to let them have any more power over him. Not even disgust could stir up a reaction within him. He sighed, shifting his gaze from the woman to the dirt beneath his feet. 

"Whatever you want, make it quick." he said, not sparing another look her way.

"I-I..." Gwen began, a lump forming in her throat. 

Here she was, face to face with the man who had caused her and her teacher so much sorrow. The wounds may have healed, but the pain still lingered. This was not the first time she saw him. Ever since that incident, she had come to Morthal quite often to check on Leah, but each visit was brief and she avoided all contact with the residents, fearful of what they might do. Of what _she_ might do. Standing in front of him and talking to him now...she could feel all courage drain from her body as she reverted back to that time, hiding behind Fjorn as they tried to explain what had happened. She wanted to turn around, get Ornstein and leave that place behind, but as much as she tried her feet just wouldn't move. 

"Well?" Jorgen asked, but waited not for an answer, turning to leave before he even finished his question. "I'm not going to waste my time." he said. 

He began to walk away when finally, Gwen managed to speak.

"Silus had asked me retrieve something from you. Your piece of Mehrunes' Razor." she stated, mustering up the will to take one step closer to him. 

Jorgen stood still for a few seconds before nodding his head in acknowledgement. Like mother like daughter.

"So my father was right, after all. He suspected that he had ties to the Mythic Dawn, but I never gave it too much thought and I don't care enough to do so now either. However, I won't give it to you. I know better than to entrust that thing to a witch." he said, turning around to throw her a tired, scornful glare.

"I'm not a witch." Gwen said, standing her ground, much to her own surprise.

"Oh, no? Then why are you helping Silus gather the pieces? Are you so ignorant as to not know about Mehrunes Dagon?" the man inquired. 

"No, I know of him." Gwen stated proceeding forward, a sudden surge of courage flowing through her veins. "I'd even argue that I know enough about him to be sure that if I don't retrieve the pieces, another will do it. Someone who will not be as courteous as to ask for them."

Mere inches separated them now, looking each other in the eye, neither willing to back down.

"You have some guts to threaten me." he hissed at her, the fires of rage burning within his gaze.

"Except, I'm not. I'm merely warning you and giving you a chance to spare yourself the tragedy." she stated, calm as if this was a mere conversation between friends, nothing more.

Jorgen pondered her words for a few minutes. That blasted hilt didn't mean much to him, only another burden to worry about. His family sought to protect it indeed, but it all felt useless to him. The woman's words were true. A Daedra will stop at nothing to get what it wanted and if seeing his razor whole once more was Dagon's desire, then what could they, mere mortals hope to achieve? They would only delay the inevitable, unnecessarily provoking the demon's ire. He did not want that.

"Wait here." he said, turning around and walking in the direction of the mill where he lived.

He returned shortly after, tossing an item wrapped in ragged cloth at her feet. Hesitant, she picked it up unveiling the item to reveal a piece of the razor, the hilt. 

"Here is your blasted piece. Now you have one hour to leave this place, before I round up all the men and chase you away, witch." Jorgen said, venom filling his every word. 

Gwen nodded, holding it close to her chest, feeling the dark, lingering power within pulsate against her very soul. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Silus' tale was real. This was truly the infamous Mehrunes' Razor. Keeping her head low, she left the man to his woes, ignoring his scrutinizing gaze which burned into her back. 

Before she returned to Leah's home, she passed by the local tavern to buy some food. She felt bad that she couldn't let Ornstein rest and have a meal in a proper place. They didn't even get the chance to eat since they left Dawnstar in the early morning. He must have been extremely tired and hungry, yet he hadn't said a thing. But she couldn't risk Jorgen staying true to his word. She's seen it happen once. She didn't want to go through it again. Luckily, the ruins provided good shelter for the night away from any dangers lurking in the swamp when the moon was out. She had already cleaned Ustengrav out of necromancers and Draugr when she had gone to retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller for the Grey Beards. The two of them could dine in the swamp, then head there as to not drag their hunger any longer.   
  
"Gwen, where are you going?" Helgi said behind her, startling the Nord. 

"By the Divine, Helgi! Don't scare me like that." the woman said, turning to look at the child.

"You didn't answer my question." Helgi insisted, staring up at her friend, waiting.

Something broke inside Gwen. She hated having to part with Leah and her daughter. Ever since the incident with Fjorn, Leah was the only one who still showed her kindness and treated her like a human being, not some scum. But Morthal had a way of reminding her that even though there was one soul who always welcomed her, she was still unwanted. It was in the air, in the glances thrown her way by the older folk who remembered the past and refused to question if what they did was right or not. They dared not confront her, not now when it was revealed that she was the Dragonborn, but that did not quench the hatred in their hearts. Venomous whispers always found their way to her somehow and she dreaded the day when they would reach the young girl before her.

"I'm afraid we have to leave, Helgi." Gwen said, bending down so their eyes were at the same level.

"Mom will let you stay if you want." the girl replied, wrapping her arms around the woman's neck.

"What about your father?" Gwen asked, removing a wild strand of hair from the child's face. Come to think of it, she hardly saw Hroggar that day. Where could he have been?

"Dad is not home at all during the night lately." Helgi said, her cheeks forming into a pout. "He is always at the tavern. He says he's discussing plans, because the jarl is useless." 

Gwen's jaw nearly dropped when she heard that. She knew Hroggar as a kind, peaceful man. He loved his wife enough to accept Gwen and listen to what had actually happened on that day. She couldn't think of him as someone planning a rebellion. Surely Helgi must have heard it wrong, but as much as the Dragonborn wanted to hear more, time was running out. She could already feel the gazes of the villagers locked upon her, tension brewing in the air.

"I'm sorry, Helgi. I can't stay any longer." the woman said, letting go of the child.

"But you'll come again, right?" Helgi asked, looking up at her with pleading eyes. "And you'll bring the knight as well, right?"

"Sure. We'll come back as soon as we can." Gwen replied with a smile. She had to thank him later for how kindly he had treated her. 

Helgi grinned and let go of the woman, returning to play with her friends. The Dragonborn watched her go, pain stinging her insides as if salt had been poured on an open wound. If only they would listen, then things may be different, but that was only a dream, the day when her and Fjorn's name would be cleared, being still far, far away. 

Gwen sighed and turned around towards the direction of the tavern. She still had to prepare for departure after all. Great.

✠♦✠

Ornstein breath in the chill, sweetly-scented air of the swamp, the light from the sun warming up his skin, bringing a smile on his lips. He wanted to lean on the soft grass and enjoy the silence around them, but he didn't want to seem rude. Speaking of company, he threw one look towards Gwen, watching the young woman lost in thought. She was still feeling bad that they had to leave Morthal behind and spend the rest of the day in the ruins. He told her countless times that he didn't mind. He was used to going days without food, not for some serious reason, mind you. He had merely forgot to eat, locked up in his office, buried in mountains of documents. His friends had to drag him away by force some days, just so he could get some rest. The fact that he had so much work to do because of all the trouble they caused seemed to completely escape them though. 

However, despite all his reassurance, Gwen was still sad because of it. She was staring at the waters running next to where they camped, fishes' scales shining beneath the bluish waters, her mind obviously somewhere else. 

"Is everything ok?" he asked, wanting to slap his mouth the moment the question left his lips. What a stupid thing to ask.

Gwen snapped out of her thoughts, wiping her head in his direction so fast, she got dizzy. 

"Huh?! Whoa! I-I'm fine! Sorry for worrying you. Just...just thinking about something. Sorry." she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

The knight looked at her, biting back a remark about her being an awful liar. 

"If you want to talk, I'm here." he said, gently patting her on the shoulder. 

She gave him a warm smile, but didn't say anything about what troubled her. Ornstein didn't push it, knowing full well how horrible it was to be cornered when all one wanted was to bear their burden in peace. He gave her space, but also let her know that she could rely on him when she needed someone to talk to. It was the last he could do and what he needed back then, too.

After they ate, Gwen led him to the ruins of Ustengrav, where they could spend the night.

"Have you ever slept near a waterfall?" she asked, all of the sudden, as the ruins surrounded by Deathbells, that's what they're called apparently, of all colors came into view. 

Ornstein thought before answering. He and Artorias had gone on hunting hikes quite a few times back in the day at the Wolf Knight's insistence, camping beneath the starry sky. Were they ever near a waterfall? Not that he could remember. However, he could recall a vivid discussion between the two of them, regarding the former captain's insomnia and the Abysswalker did mention something about waterfalls.

"I haven't, to be honest. Why?" he asked.

"Care to try?" she inquired in return, a wide smile spreading on her face.

"Sure." he answered, following the woman inside the old ruins. 

She led him through the narrow tunnels, trying not to giggle when he had to bend down to fit inside the corridors. However, it didn't bother him that much, his attention being more focused on studying the strange, old architecture of the ancient Nords, the stone coffins here and there reminding him of Lord Nito's catacombs. A shiver ran down his spine when he saw some of them wide open, yet there were no corpses around. 

"Are you sure this place is safe?" he asked, looking around for any signs of movement. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with some undead.

"Yes. The mana inside it hasn't completely regenerated yet, so its safe to lurk around in till then." she said, waving her hand around.

"And what will happen once the mana is regenerated?" he asked.

"Then the Draugr will wake up and guard these halls once more." she responded.

The knight was about to question her further, but didn't get the chance to. 

"Here we are! Sir Ornstein, I present to you, the beauty of Ustengrav!" she said, as she turned around to face him, arms spread wide. 

Behind her was a scenery which could only be described as breathtaking, indeed. The dull, dusted cobblestones were replaced by bright, blue and green stones, light filtering in the opened cavern through the holes in the ceiling. On the walls of the cavern, narrow paths led down to the bottom, the sound of rushing waters echoing all through the place. Ornstein stepped near the edge and looked down, surprised to see a tall, stone wall at the bottom, surrounded by water and green vegetation. There was a certain serenity floating in the air, one that soothed anyone's woes.

If only Artorias and Sif were there. Hell! Even Gough and Ciaran would have loved this place. If only...

"Do you like it?" the Nord asked, coming over to him.

"Yes. It's...beautiful." he said, pushing back the feelings of nostalgia threatening to suffocate him.

"I'm glad. Come, let's go get some rest." she continued, heading to the path on the side opposite to where they were. 

The knight followed her, looking at the strange flora growing on the walls, glowing mushroom spreading a bluish, pale light all around them. As soon as they reached the lower area, he went straight to the stone wall, his eyes wandering over the strange language and dragon head carving above. 

"Are there many places like this one?" he asked, running his gloved fingers over the crude scriptures.

"Skyrim is full of beautiful places. The Forgotten Vale, Ancestor's Glade, Blackreach, just to name a few. If you want, we can go there sometimes." she said, walking over to the edge of the water.

She crouched down and reached out a hand, dipping her fingers in the blue liquid, the cold creeping up along her arm making her smile. 

Ornstein couldn't remember much about the lands of Lordran outside of Anor Londo and some of the areas of the Royal Gardens, where his friends had dragged him to, on the few days off he had. He still remembered the nicknames he received due to his tendency of avoiding going out in general, one of them having stuck more than the others, unfortunately. It wasn't a huge problem when the Silver Knights used it, whispering it behind his back, when they thought he wouldn't hear them. Usually a scornful look, a hiss, they were enough to silence them, no problem. But when his own lords began to call him that as well, that's when he felt his dignity fall to pieces. 

"Does Lordran have any places like this?" Gwen asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"The Royal Gardens of Oolacile are a wonder to behold, but other than that, not that I know of. I...I'm not exactly one for exploring, to be honest. And my duties often did not allow for it." he said, walking away from the ruin to explore the rest of the cavern.

"Oh. I see." Gwen said, though honestly speaking, she did not know much about the duties of a knight. 

Her studies had been more focused on sorcery, and the occasional weapon training, but all other subjects were pretty much besides her. She kept away from the world, aware of its hostility to those like her, students not only of the arcane but the Oblivion as well. Sure, Gwen did not worship the more violent and blood thirsty Daedra, but she saw no problem in looking up to Hermaeus Mora. His ways, cruel as they were, still could not be compared to his brethren, his gift of knowledge awfully tempting to scholars such as her. She did not outright worship him, as one would normally do, but she did accept to help him now and then should he ever require her aid. All for a price, of course. Hermaeus Mora rarely asked for bloodshed or so, his sphere of interest being only knowledge of all kind, the uncovering of secrets and information, however insignificant it may seem to others. He cared not how his servants acquired it, only that in the end, it would belong to him and even when he ordered someone's death, that person must have had done something absolutely horrible to manage to infuriate him to that degree. Thankfully, Gwen never had to take on those kind of tasks. He barely asked anything of her, or of anyone for that matter. Out of all the Princess, he interacted the least with his worshipers, some hardly ever seeing him during their entire life. Not that the Dragonborn minded. She had enough to worry about already, never mind the whims of a demon.

"Yeah. My friends liked it though...." Ornstein said, almost whispering the last sentence. 

Artorias practically lived in the forests. Even before Sif had come into his life, he'd stroll through the Royal Gardens, spending all day in the fields, talking to the human workers there, asking them about the plants and occasionally, helping them with trimming the trees. He'd be gone from dusk till dawn, and when he'd come back, he'd reek of pine and flowers, leaves and dirt stuck in his clothes and hair. Ciaran was the one to help him get them out, taking her sweet time doing so. Her feelings for the Wolf Knight were obvious to all but him. The ways she stole glances at him, the way she prolonged her time aiding him to remove the debris from his hair, how she'd run her fingers through it under the pretext of untangling rebel knots and many other little things, they all screamed of her love for him. She would sneak to see him in the forests whenever she could. She did, however, had her own special place in there. 

Away, secluded in the darkest corners of the Royal Woods, there was a special place where the sorceress and mages of the court would build their magical constructs, the scarecrows and stone guards. Hiding in the shadows, she observed them work, her interest focused mostly in the way they created the machinations, rather than how they got them to work. Ornstein often suspected that her interest was actually Lord Gwyn's who had ordered her to spy on the Oolacile court. But then again, she always had rather strange hobbies, anything to do with anatomy being to her liking, the bloodier the better. 

Gough was much like Artorias in that regard. He liked to go in the gardens on his days off, to sit among the trees and listen to the birds sing. He once painted the sceneries he saw, the woods bathed in the sun's golden light and the flowers adorning the grass. Ornstein still had one of his drawings, hanging above him bed in his chambers. Now, the gentle giant could paint no more, his eyes having lost their light, damning him to a world of dark with only sound to soothe his longing. He was still the best archer Anor Londo had ever seen, his disability unable to impede his talent. Paintings turned to carvings, canvas replaced by wood an a knife taking the place of the brush. Gough still loved the gardens, still spent his everyday there, admiring it through brand new senses. 

"A-are you alright?" Gwen asked.

She was standing next to him, her blue eyes looking up at him with concern. Before he answered, he felt something cold trail down his cheek. Remembering his friends brought out feelings he tried to bury deep, into the darkest corners of his heart and never let them out again. He dealt with the pain once, but it looked as if it was never enough, the grief resurfacing again and again, tearing him down, making him a wreck. 

"S-sorry...I...I just remembered... something unpleasant..." a lie. It wasn't the memory that pained him, but the remembrance of the fact that those times were gone. Funny. He believe he made peace with it, but it turned out he didn't. He never could.

"If you want to talk, I'm here." she said, gently holding his hand. 

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Oh, how the tables have turned.

"Thank you, but I don't want to burden you with my troubles. You have enough to worry about." he said, walking away from her, grateful that his helmet was hiding his face. 

Gwen didn't say anything further, watching him go and sit on a rock nearby. She wanted to help him somehow, know what troubled him, but he had the courtesy to give her space when she needed it, and now she could only do the same. If only Serana were there. She always knew what to do and how to help others. Despite her aloof behavior, she was kind and tried to help those whom she cared about when they were in pain. The vampire had helped her when she was at her lowest, giving her a reason to push forward when all she wanted was to give up and let it all burn. 

She walked over to the other side of the cave and sat down on the cold floor, the sound of the rushing water filling the silence hanging heavy between them. Slowly, she closed her eyes, letting her thoughts wonder to better times, to the times when she saw the world through the innocent eyes of a child.


	11. Mehrunes’ Razor. Part 4

"Here we are folks. The city of Markarth." the driver said as soon as the carriage came to a stop.

Ornstein stared in awe at the scenery around him, the abundance of lavish green, grey stone shining underneath the bright sunlight pouring over the land from the clear skies. All around them, there were rock structures, the one which served as the gate to the city being the most impressive, the foreign architecture fitting right in with the rest of the view. Gwen had told him on the way that the city was built by the Dwemer, a mysterious race of elves which disappeared centuries ago, after an incident involving a dead god's heart. A strange tale, and he had his doubts about its validity, but then again, this world was so much different from his own that he dared not question its legends. 

"Thank you, sir. Have a good day." Gwen bid the man goodbye as she got off the carriage, followed by the knight. 

"Always glad to be of service." the man replied, leaning back into his seat, waiting for his next customers. 

Though he didn't say it, Ornstein was glad that they managed to find a carriage to take them all the way to Markarth, the trip having been too long to be made on foot. Even with a coach, it still took them almost more than half a day to arrive at the hold of The Reach. He had also enjoyed listening to the driver's tales of the city, Gwen adding some information now and then, while also admiring the scenery of Skyrim. He found that with each hold they visited, the air was getting warmer, no more freezing cold like Dawnstar and that might have been his favorite thing. Though again, he won't admit that either. 

"So, what are we going to do now?" he asked, looking at Gwen.

She had taken out her map, tracing the path from the city to the ruins where the next keeper of the razor was, Drascua. 

"Dead Crone Rock is not far from here. If we go now, we should be able to get the pommel and get back in town before sunset, but then again..." she said, looking up from the map and towards the path across the stone bridge, not far from them. "The Reach is a rather dangerous place and the trip was already long. I believe it best we rest for tonight in the city." 

"That's a wise decision." the knight commented, shifting his gaze from her to the stone gate and the stables nearby. 

He could already feel the eyes of the people on him. Dear Lord Gwyn, how he wished they would stop already. He steeled himself for the night, aware that the feeling of being stared at will not go away at all. 

"So, anything else which you might want to share about Markarth?" he asked as he followed Gwen, just to have something to talk about, a means of distraction.

"Well, " Gwen said, placing both hands behind her head, "there is the Nchuand-Zel excavation, if you're interested. I helped the court wizard once and since then he's allowed me to go and leave as I please, as long as I don't damage anything, of course."

"That must be have been one huge favor you did for him if he rewarded you so greatly." Ornstein commented, impressed.

"Not really. I just deliver him Dwarven Centurion parts now and then. They are pretty rare to come by, you know, since not many are willing to venture in the Dwemer ruins. They are very dangerous, after all. And since Calcelmo is a well known Dwemer enthusiast, you can imagine how glad he was to find someone who didn't care about the risks." she explained, lowering her hands and gaze to the ground. 

"Are you that confident in your skills?" the knight asked before he could think it through, his voice dripping with disbelief. 

He wanted to slap himself for it. How could he be so rude after everything she's done for him? Fortunately, Gwen didn't seem to mind. 

"I'm confident in my ability to sneak my way out of trouble, if that helps." she replied with a slight smile. 

And sometimes she didn't have a choice. A Word of Power, an important lost treasure, cursed thieves begging for help, she had no say in the matter. Thus, she braced herself, tried to be strong, and face the dangers coming her way. There was no other way for the one cursed with the burden of being the Dragonborn. If only she could get her hands on the Divine who thought it would be a good idea to do this to her, oh! the pain she'd inflict upon them...Alas, those were useless thoughts, fantasies to soothe the anger and pain in her heart, without any chance of ever coming to fruition. Yet, she chose to dream, for that was the only thing she had left.

"Gwen! Look out!" 

"Wha-!"

Too late.

She ran face front into the closed gate, the cold metallic feeling being soon followed by the pain and the sensation of something dripping down her lips and chin, a bitter, iron-like taste spreading on the tip of her tongue. 

"Fuck." she cussed, her cheeks burning bright red. 

Ornstein stared at her mouth wide open beneath his mask, a part of him wanting to laugh, the other frozen in place not knowing what to do. The guards however did not bother to hold back their amusement, their chuckles echoing through the air. The woman buried her face in the fur of her coat, trying to hide herself, refusing to look up even after they were inside the city, the laughter of the guards still echoing behind them, not even when they sat down at the Silver Blood inn, waiting for their food. 

"It happens to everyone." Ornstein tried to cheer her up, recalling some of his own stunts. "I once fell asleep at the desk I was working on and somehow ended up knocking an inkwell all over myself. And didn't realize until hours later, when I was returning to my room. On the other side of the palace."

Oh! The teasing he had received the days to follow. 

"That...sounds...awkward." Gwen said, finally lifting her eyes to look at him. 

Dried blood stained her face, dark crimson highlighted against her milky white skin. 

"Yeah. I got a lot of teasing from my friends because of that." the knight added, remembering Ciaran and her jokes, the looks she gave him whenever she was visiting him in his office and an inkwell was nearby. Though her face was covered by the mask of the Lord's Blades, he could always feel her mischievous smile, radiating through the porcelain-like material. "Needless to say, it was really annoying."

Gwen let out a huff of amusement, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

"Serana makes fun of me every chance she gets." she said, fiddling with her fingers. "If she were here now, I kid you not, she'd hold my hand and scream at the top of her lungs "Watch out! Dummy coming through!"." a chuckle left her lips as her smile widened. "I can already picture her warning me about any door nearby, telling me to be careful and then fussing over me whenever I get through as if I were a baby."

"Now, that's taking it too far." Ornstein commented, though truth be told, he found it funny as well, but out of courtesy, he didn't add that. 

"She does tend to exaggerate to be honest." Gwen affirmed with a nod of her head. "But she's not doing it out of malice. She's just... she can be a bit insensitive sometimes."

"How insensitive?" the knight asked. 

The Nord looked at him, her eyes gently scolding him, while her smile still remained. 

"She's a good person, Ornstein. She was the one who actually helped me treat you in the beginning. Remember the day you first woke up? When you heard someone scream?"

How could he forget? Though it was more than a week ago, it only felt like yesterday to him. 

"That was her. Something..." the light faded from her eyes along with her grin, "something had happened, I'm afraid, which caused her to leave..."

"Do you know where she is? We could pay her a visit after we're done with Silus, if you want. Or, if she's not far, we could go after we retrieve the pommel." Ornstein said. 

He understood far too well how it felt to miss one's friends, the same desire burning within him as well as the regret and grief at the knowledge that regardless of how much he wished it, he would never see any of them ever again. And now he could see it in her as well, those blue eyes giving everything away, sprawling her thoughts on the floor for all to see. Was she even aware of it? How those orbs were like a mirror to her soul?

Gwen shook her head slowly, a sad smile now present on her face.

"I'm afraid we can't. Her family...needs space for a while." she said, avoiding his gaze. 

She was hiding something from him, that was painfully obvious, but if she wanted to keep something secret, he respected her wishes. He didn't know when he would leave Skyrim and return to Anor Londo and though he wanted to enjoy his time here and was not opposed to making friends, he couldn't let the relationship get too deep. Neither for him nor the others. 

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the food, the innkeeper's wife throwing concerned glances towards the giant knight, at the helmet resting by his side. Still, she left without saying a word, leaving the two of them to eat. 

After their meal and Gwen finally washed the blood off her face, they went out for a stroll, the chill air brushing against skin, cooling off the day's warmth. She showed him Dibella's temple, closed off at the moment, took him to the excavation site, Calcelmo more than glad to see her and ask about her adventures in the Dwemer ruins. While she answered to the best of her possibilities to his questions, Ornstein was talking to Aicantar, learning more about the history of the city, mostly about the ancient civilization which had built it. Gwen's explanations had been helpful, but could not be compared to the Altmer's knowledge. He learned of their mockery of the gods, of their disregard for the lives of others, having put their own relatives through horrible experiences. Funny how much they reminded him of that annoying Duke, turning against his own kind for no other reason than envy, for he was deformed, scaleless and thus mortal, while his brethren had little to fear, their stone scales making them almost invincible. 

Unfortunately, Calcelmo's interrogation had taken much too long, and the duo didn't have any time left to explore Nchuand-Zel. Instead they went back into the city, the stars and pale moons hanging high in the sky. Neither of them was tired, sleep being a still faraway thought, thus, Gwen led him back to the Temple of Dibella, at the top of the stairs, on an annex in the back. They stood there, watching the city below. Despite the late hours of the night, the plaza was still busy, people coming and going, their shadows dancing on the ground beneath torchlight. A bard was in the market, playing an old ballad, his melody accompanied by the sound of rushing water. 

From where they were, Ornstein could see past the main gates and into the valley outside, people still working on the farm, while miners were gathered around a bonfire on the other side, laughing and drinking away the day's fatigue. Guards were patrolling, their torchlights keeping away the predators of the night.

"So, what do you think?" Gwen asked, drawing his attention to her.

"I like Markarth. It's a beautiful place and the area around is not bad either." he replied, leaning back against the stone building behind them. 

"Sorry we couldn't visit the excavation site. We can go tomorrow after we return from Dead Crone Rock." she said, bringing her knees to her chest. 

"You don't have to stress yourself about it." Ornstein assured her, though he couldn't deny that he was glad at the idea. 

After his conversation with Aicantar and hearing about their mechanical constructs, he had grown curious about the place, mostly about the constructs. Were they really as powerful as the others believed them to be? 

"We can go another time." he said. Whether that was a lie or truth, he couldn't tell for sure.

They both fell back into silence, their attention falling back upon the city below. The atmosphere was beginning to die down, the people returning to their homes to rest for the night. Only guards were still awake, making their rounds, fulfilling their duty of keeping Markarth safe. The sounds of the night took over the silence, howls of the wolves, cries of the crickets, and the noise of the river running through the city combined into a soothing melody, a promise that everything was going to be alright. 

✠♦✠

A battle cry, a sword raised high, face contorted by hatred rushing their way, mind already picturing the victory to follow. Those dreams shattered just as fast as they came however. 

"FUS RO DAH!" 

The Forsworn warrior flew several feet away and crashed into a crude constructed tent, never to wake again. Someone yelled, an ice lance, a blast of fire. The battle raged on, and so far, the odds were in the duo's favor. They advanced quickly, the enemies though many, easily fell down at the end of their blades. The sorcerers were harder to deal with, their mana not showing any signs of depleting even as they cast one spell after another, showering Gwen and Ornstein with fire, ice and water projectiles. The former Dragonslayer danced through the attacks, his fighting instincts taking over, dictating his very move and step. However, where he could not act, the Dragonborn took charge. Blue lightning erupted from her hands, hitting the Forsworn spellcasters and draining their mana away, giving the knight enough time to put an end to them. 

A screech echoed through the air, drawing both of their, attentions to the top of the stairs, where a troll was hitting its chest and roaring, a Forsworn Briarheart standing next to it, sword and spell ready to go. 

"Should we go easy on them?" Ornstein asked, positioning himself next to Gwen, staring at the warrior, a smug smile flourishing beneath his helmet. He had missed the thrill of a fight so much. He almost didn't want it to end.

"If we want to have fun, sure." she answered, readying another spell, this time fire. "Careful not to get troll blood on you though. It reeks for days and its hard to get rid of." she added, looking at his armor.

"That would be nasty." the knight agreed and lunged towards the Briarheart, ready for an attack.

"Oh, you have no idea!" Gwen shouted behind him, throwing a ball of fire at the incoming troll. 

The beast raged as the flames scorched its hide, its roars distracting the Briarheart for a second, enough time for Ornstein to get close. He raised his great sword to strike, but the warrior was faster, managing to parry the attack in time with his own weapon, hand coated in sparks in position to release the spell. Just as he was ready to, however, another screech from the troll pierced the air. He looked away, in time to see a bloody blade emerge from the still-burning creature's back, right where the heart was. One second, that was enough for the former Dragonslayer to lay him to rest. 

"I thought you said not to get troll blood on me." Ornstein said, looking at Gwen whose chest and torso were covered with a foul-smelling, greenish substance. 

She wasn't kidding at all when she said it stunk. Dear Lord Gwyn, not even the executioner's chambers reeked this much. It reminded him a bit of Blighttown, though he couldn't say for sure, as the memory was foggy from both the long years and his desperate attempts to forget it. 

"Haven't you ever heard of the saying "Do as I say not as I do"?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the awful scent.

She turned her head away from it, mouth open wide, gagging. 

"Ok. Let's get this over with. I need to get rid of this armor as soon as possible." she said, rushing over to the door leading to the peak of the ruins. 

"Lead the way." Ornstein commented, following her at a distance far enough to not have to endure the stench, but close enough to help if there was any need. 

Screams, explosions and shattered ice echoed through the tower as the duo made their way to the top, the Forsworn warriors, although reluctant to approach them due to the putrid scent, which was 10 times worse in those dark, narrow hallways where it had nowhere to go, still did their best to fight them off, but alas, they stood no chance. Those who did not fall to Gwen's shouts, met their end at Ornstein's arrows, or at least he tried.

The knight found fighting in those corridors and doors both hard and annoying, having to either crouch down or walk sideways in order to fit in through them. He couldn't even swing his weapon right, for goodness' sake! Fortunately, Gwen had picked up a bow and arrow from a table outside, and gave them to him to help him fight. The former Dragonslayer didn't have much experience when it came to bows. It was always Gough's duty to train the new archers, and even after he left, it was his old students who took charge of this task, not him. Thankfully, the gentle giant did share some advice with his friends back in the day.

"One can never be too sure." he liked to say, letting out a soft laughter as Ciaran had taken down her seventh bird for the day, while Artorias and Ornstein were still struggling to shoot down one.

Yeah, the Captain of the Four Knights was strangely much better at lunging spears or lighting bolts at his enemies rather than wield a bow. Combining that with the fact that both he and his friend somehow always went after the same prey, no wonder those times were always a fiasco. 

Even now, he missed more times than he wanted to admit, cussing with each wasted arrow, his annoyance growing even more seeing the mischievous smile on the Nord's face, hearing her muffled laughter. 

"It's not funny." he said, avoiding to look at her, his face burning bright red.

The woman didn't say anything, continuing to ascend the stairs leading outside, but her body language betrayed her amusement. As if she had any leg to stand on. Last he checked, she was the one covered in stinking troll blood.

The moment they opened the door, they were attacked with a barrage of ice and fire projectiles, forcing them both to take shelter back inside the tunnel.

"You know, I'm getting quite tired of these attacks. Can't they change it a little?" Ornstein asked, looking down at Gwen, one hand holding her close to his chest, the other clenching the handle of his blade.

"Don't know. Let me ask." she said, crawling away from him, enough to peek from behind the still-opened door. "FUS RO DAH!" 

The shout echoed through the air, its force sending the Briarheart Forsworn and Hagraven flying back, giving the duo enough time to get out and obtain the upper hand if only for a while. The warrior was the first to fall, the monstrous witch being the next to follow.

She put up a good fight before she died though, her claws and spells proving a real menace. The fact that they were coated in disease was just another annoying bonus. His metal armor protected him well, but Gwen had no such luck. The stench did not impede the Hagraven from getting close enough. She feared not the sharp blade cutting at her flesh, scratching at the woman, claws tearing through the already worn fabric, easily getting to the skin beneath. Three slashed appeared on the Nord's arm and cheek, crimson liquid seeping through. 

Enraged, Ornstein cursed the creature's resilience. He lunged at her, determined to put an end to this battle, once and for all. He cared not to dodge the fire balls she tossed at him, nor the shock, penetrating through his armor and filling him with pain. He had learned ago how to push it all aside, to avert his focus from them and fill his mind with nothing other than his purpose, his vein filled with adrenaline. With one wide swing of his blade, he managed to cut off Drascua's head, putting an end to their battle at last.

His breath was heavy, the rush from before wearing off, leaving him to crumble to his knees as the pain finally took over, his entire body screaming as nightmares began to flood his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, the entire world spinning around him, his vision getting darker and darker as seconds passed by. He could hear Gwen calling him behind the darkness, but see her or answer he could not. He tried to get back up, but in vain. His body refused to listen to him anymore, and before he knew it, he was out cold.


	12. Mehrunes’ Razor. Part 5

"Gyahahahahaha!" 

"Ugh! Shut up!" Ornstein screamed to the heaven, his head booming from the aching feeling spreading within and the maddening laughter surrounding him only made it worse. 

He could not stay there any longer, all of his instincts yelling at him to get out. The only problem was...where was he?

The knight opened his eyes and looked around, the moment he did that, the events from before rushing back to him, making his migraine even worse. He squeezed his eyes shut once more, leaning forward, his hands holding his head, low hisses escaping clenched teeth. Through the blood-stained images of swords clashing and spells thrown at him, screams, battle cries and so on, he could recall Gwen calling out his name, concerned. Fuck! Was that all he could do now? Make others worry about him to no end? 

But...what happened after that?

He...he passed out and then...and then....

Though his head still hurt like hell, he struggled to look up, his vision slowly adjusting to the strong light surrounding him, brain processing the view surrounding him. The laughter echoing all around him didn't help at all. Just where was it coming from? He didn't have much time to wonder however, as his mind was realizing what was going on. The first thing he acknowledged was the searing heat gnawing at his skin and flesh. Then, there was the abundance of crimson, of yellow and black. Next were the screams, the roars of beasts, the familiar weight in his right hand, silver shining in the scorching flames. He knew where he was, fear and hatred invading his heart. Cusses began to flood out his mouth as he looked for an escape, but there was no such thing in sight. Nothing but that disgusting, maniacal laughter. 

"Show yourself, you jerk!" he screamed, spear held high above his head.

If he was going to suffer in there, he was going to at least kick the butt of the idiot making fun of his sorrow. 

However, nobody answered his challenge, the laughter getting even louder and annoying. The knight cussed it out, but his ire did nothing to help his predicament, though the distraction from the nightmare surrounding him was more than welcome. As he continued to shout and curse the nameless presence, he began to hear something through the hellish noises. Through the roars of beasts and song of fire, he could make out someone calling out to him.

For once the laughter stopped, a bored voice taking its place.

"Aw...looks like its time to go, kitty cat...well, no matter. See you soon!" 

Wait...THAT WAS....!

✠♦✠

"Come back here, you bastard!" he shouted, getting up so fast, he knocked something in his haste.

Someone cried out next to him and he had to lay back down, a new wave of pain washing over him, residing mostly in his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. 

"At least, you're ok." he heard Gwen say, but he couldn't look at her. Not until the pain had faded. But he could still talk at least.

"What happened?" he asked, one hand reaching out to shield his eyes from the rays of the sun trying to sneak through closed eyelids. 

He could feel the rustling of the wind around them, a light breeze soothing his numb muscles. Ah! That was right. He took quite a lot of damage while getting rid of the Hagraven, yet despite how severe the injuries were, he couldn't feel them at all. Only a lingering dullness, making his every movement lethargic, to the point where he had to let his hand down. So Gwen had treated him. 

"Thank you. You saved me again." he murmured, even doing that taking out a lot of energy. 

"You're welcome." Came her answer, followed by cold fingers gently caressing his forehead. "You gave me a real scare back there. What were you thinking? Rushing in like that." she scolded him, her tone through a bit harsher than usual did not lose its softness. 

"You were wounded. We had to end it quickly." he explained as best as he could. 

"And getting yourself burned alive was the way to go?" she inquired, a note of amusement hanging in her tone. "Is this how you did things in Lordran?" 

"You have no idea." he answered, a smile creeping upon his lips as he leaned into her touch. "I...I'm just tired..." he added, but stopped before he could finish that thought. Before he let it slip how much he feared losing someone else.

He had to keep things superficial. 

"I imagine." Gwen said, continuing to tend to him. "Rest for now. Take as much time as you need there is no rush."

At that, Ornstein let out a relieved sigh, focusing on her cold touch, on the noises of the wind, the scent of herbs trying to mask that of troll blood still clinging onto the Nord's armor. He had almost forgotten about that. He didn't care about it though. He was too tired to care about the stench, or let out the snarky remarks that popped into his head. Slowly, he drifted to sleep, his mind plagued by nightmares no more, the breeze and warm sunlight bathing his skin, reminding him of the better days in Lordran.

✠♦✠

It was late at night when they returned to Markarth, the guards wrinkling their noses when Gwen passed by, the stench of troll blood still as strong as ever. She tried to play it cool, but it was obvious as day that she was embarrassed by it. Once they got to the inn, they both went their respective ways, Ornstein to change his ruined armor, while the Nord rushed to get out of hers and take a bath.

Inside his room, the knight took a look at the melted, golden metal, a deep sigh escaping his lips. It wasn't anything new. He had seen it in worse conditions during his lifetime, but somehow, now it left a bitter taste in his mouth, especially when thinking that it hadn't been that long since it had been fixed either. If only he had some repair powder on him... Yet another thing which he missed about Lordran. That and Gough's sibling, the Giant Blacksmith.

He was called Godfrid, a name which couldn't be more fitting. He was incredibly gentle, his craftsmanship suppressing even that of his older brother. He liked making anything, from weapons to sculptures, always adding something to his works, from a small flower at the feet of the Princess' statue, in the back where not many could see it, unless they actually looked at it, to a bird of other animal to the weapons of the knights. It became a fun game among the Silver Knights to search for his marks whenever he was done tending to some statue in the palace or after he had repaired to their blades. After Seath developed his crystal magic and enchantments, Godfrid immediately took a liking to it, and wanted to learn how to apply it to weapons. Unfortunately, the Duke disappeared into his Archives along with his knowledge, and nobody had seen him since, neither his assistants. Ornstein had sent some knights to see what was going on, but sadly, neither managed to find anything. Thus, the giant never got the chance to try it, yet he still clung onto the hope that one day, he will get to achieve his dream. 

The former Dragonslayer sighed, remembering Godfrid and the time they spent together. What was he doing now? Was he ok? He had promised Gough that he'd look after him, that he'd made sure nothing bad happened to him, but how could he do that when he was in a completely different world? 

As he thought of this, the nightmare from before came back to him, that hateful voice ringing once again in his head. If only he could have gotten his hands on that bastard...But alas, the chance was lost and now, he could only push forward and search a way home.

A soft knock at his door pulled his out of it. 

"Come in." he called, his voice shortly followed by the sound of the door opening, Gwen's visage peeking shyly from behind it. 

She no longer had her warpaint on, her freckles hidden behind rosy colored cheeks. She was wearing a shoulder less, silk shirt and a pair of black trousers, a dark corset tied around her torso. 

"Hey. How are you doing?" she asked, not moving from her spot.

"I'm fine. Come in." he invited her, removing his armor from the bed to make room for her to sit. 

She did as told, throwing a quick glance towards the chest piece, the most damaged part of the entire set, one of the garnets having shattered while the others were covered in melted gold. 

"Looks like we're going to pay a visit to Alvor sooner than expected." she commented with a slight hint of amusement. 

"Should I be praying he doesn't kill me?" he asked in return. 

Godfrid never minded fixing the same piece over and over again. There wasn't much else to do once the world had become stuck in a still near-dead state. However, he had heard enough stories from the other captains, how some blacksmiths would cuss them out and even throw hammers their way whenever they took their weapons to be fixed right after they had been repaired the previous day. He was no ignorant either, he knew how much work his armor took to maintain, let alone fix.

"Don't worry about it." Gwen replied, flashing a bright smile and waving her hand in dismissal. "With the war going on, he's used to it. You might get an earful though." 

"I can deal with that." he said, looking at the woman. 

Her cheeks still bore the marks of the Hagraven's claws, the healing spell she had cast upon herself unable to make them disappear. After Ornstein passed out from his injuries, she quickly poured all of her healing potions on him, along with stamina recovery ones, to the point where she had none left for herself. She used spells in order to recover herself once he was out of danger, but her mana was almost gone and she had forgotten to bring any mana recovery concoctions, something the former Dragonslayer still couldn't wrap his head around. 

Without realizing, he reached out a hand, gently tracing the outline of the pinkish mark. It was uncomfortably close to her eyeball. 

"It's ok. You don't have to worry about it." she said, taking his hand into hers, a shiver running down his spine at her cold touch. "It's almost gone anyway."

He didn't reply to that. Worrying about others had been his duty ever since he was bestowed the title of captain. Thousands of lives depended on him, on his decisions. Taking care of them was his cross to bear and he did so with honor and pride. Seeing Gwen's state brought a wave of shame and disappointment upon him. They should have planned things better, but their easy victories had gotten to their heads and any mindfulness flew out the window. 

"Um...," the Nord spoke, drawing him out of his thoughts, "are you ok?"

He realized that he was still touching her cheek. He immediately retracted his hand while apologizing to her. Damn! Of all the times to be distracted.

Gwen giggled as she calmed him down, assuring him that there was no harm done. 

"Well, it's late and I suppose I should let you rest." she said, getting up from the bed and heading towards the door. "Goodnight, Ornstein." she wished him before exiting the chamber. 

"Goodnight, Gwen." he replied, a strange longing nesting in his heart.

Left alone once more, the former Dragonslayer couldn't help but feel a tad lonely. He wasn't tired, the sweet taste of sleep still miles away from him. He sighed and went to lay on the stone bed, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling it left in him. If he had one complaint about Markarth, it had to be the beds. No matter how many furs and sheets one lied on them, he could still sense the cold stone they were made from. What were those Dwemer thinking about when they thought rock beds were a good idea? And how come no one had replaced them with normal ones? Did they have no trouble with them at all? No backpain? Sleeping in the cavern in Ustengrav had been more comfortable, the moss and soil there helping ease the hardness of the stone. 

Truly, the people in Skyrim were a weird sort of folk.

✠♦✠

Gwen rolled from one side to the other, a bad feeling gnawing at her inside, but its origin eluded her. Something bad was going on. She could feel it, but didn't know what it was, yet everything screamed at her, filling her with dread an sorrow. Rebel tears were flowing down her cheeks. This couldn't continue. 

Unable to sleep and fed up with the way she felt, she got up, cold shivers running through her entire skin. After changing her clothes, she left the room and the tavern behind, inhaling deeply the night air. She began to walk through the streets, where only the guards still patrolled. The ill omen still festered inside her, but it wasn't as bad as before. Here, in the open space, she felt like she could breathe. She climbed the stairs back to the guard's tower, glad that no one cared enough to shun her away. Or dared. She was the Dragonborn after all, her power well-known throughout all of Skyrim. No one had the courage to stand against her, besides the dragons. On one hand, she was grateful for it, on the other, it was just another painful remainder of the fact that she was alone.

She was grateful for Ornstein's company. Having someone to converse with on the road was always a joy, and he was interesting too. His stories were intriguing, the creatures from his land were so foreign from everything she knew. The scholar in her yearned to go and see them for herself. But despite his politeness and carrying for her, she could feel a wall of ice between them.. He shared much, but nothing of great importance, only surface things. He kept his distance, keeping things superficial. She couldn't blame him for that. They never knew when they would have to say goodbye, when the time to part would fall upon them. 

She knew it was best that way. If there were no deep connections involved, it won't hurt as much. Yeah. He wasn't like Serana or Lydia, who even though lived far, were still within Skyrim and whom she could still visit now and then, when the loneliness became too much. No. He was from a land much farther, a kingdom she didn't even know existed. The chances of them seeing each other after he returned home. 

She sighed, looking up at the two moons, Secunda and Masser, memories coming back to haunt her once more. She shunned them away however, sick and tired of feeling bad for herself. She got up and returned to the in, yet sleep was still miles away from her. Cussing, she looked for something to do till the morning came and what better than try and get the stench out of her armor? 

Trying not to gag at the smell which assaulted her nostrils the moment she took the leather attire out of the bag she stuffed it in, she rushed to the stream in the lower area of the city. Needless to say, no guards patrolled there while she was present. At least, her efforts didn't go without result. When the morning came, the stench had diminished greatly. The armor still wasn't wearable, but at least now she could hold it without feeling her stomach churning. 

In the morning, she met with Ornstein at the tavern, the knight having already ordered breakfast for both of them. She could feel his gaze linger upon her, especially the new black bags she had acquired over the sleepless night. 

"Did something happen?" he asked, unable to hold back his concern.

"No. I'm fine. Just had a hard time sleeping." she answered, taking a seat opposite of him. 

"So, I'm not the only one who has a problem with these stone beds. Thank Lord Gwyn. I thought I was the only one." he sighed in relief, only to be surprised by the amused look Gwen gave him. "What? You can't tell me that you find them comfortable."

"Actually I do." the Nord answered, watching his face turn pale, his eyes grow wide in shock. For some reason, he looked adorable at that moment. Almost like a kitten. "Come on. We slept in a cave only a few days ago."

"And that was way more comfortable." he argued. 

The food came and after they ate, each headed to their room to gather their things and prepare for departure. They met outside the in, Ornstein being the first to get there, Gwen still busy gathering her things. As he waited for her, he looked up at the clear blue sky, letting his thoughts go wild. He couldn't deny being a bit worried this time around. So far, they were blessed enough to not be attacked by any dragon, but if that were to change now, they would be powerless. He knew Gwen was supposed to be able to stand in equal foot with the beasts, but years of experience and war made him still worry. She was a good fighter, but against a dragon, skill was never enough as much as he loathed to admit it. The fact that he didn't have his spear was one thing, the lack of his armor however was another. If they were to be attacked, would he be able to help her? Or be just another obstacle?

He sighed, feeling a headache coming through. Silently, he prayed that everything would be alright this time too. He had no idea if there was anyone listening to him, if Lord Gwyn himself was hearing him, but he hoped his words would reach someone. And if the gods cared not for him, they would care for Gwen at least. After all, they chose her as the Dragonborn, didn't they?

"Are you ready to go?" the Nord asked, coming out of the tavern, a bright smile on her face, her cheeks a pale shade of pink.

He nodded and followed her towards the gate and from there to the carriage waiting for customers at the base of the hill, the prayer continuing to ring inside his mind even louder now when he saw her walk. There was a certain rhythm to her movements, almost like a dance. She was more energetic, jumpy. But now it was gone, her walk being rigid, tired. Whatever happened the night before, it was taking its toll on her now. 

"You should rest." he told her as soon as they got on and the carriage started moving.

"Huh? It's ok. I'll get enough rest tonight." she replied, averting her gaze from him. The bad feeling hadn't left her, its cold grip still clutching the depths of her soul. But fatigue had a way of bringing numbness upon her, helping her deal with the pain. 

"Gwen. Rest." the Knight said, his tone as stern as possible. It didn't feel right to order her around, but if she were to continue in this state, then nothing good could come out of it. 

Still, she defied him, shaking her head in dismissal. 

"You're worrying too much. I'm fiiii--" her sentence was interrupted by a long yawn, pale cheeks burning underneath his scolding gaze. 

"If that's fine, then my name is Halbert. And it's not." he argued, crossing his arms upon his chest. Why did she have to be so stubborn?

"What if something happens?" she retaliated, her eyelids growing heavy. Dang! And she made sure to splash her face with frozen water in order to keep herself awake back at the inn.

"Then I'll deal with it. Or are you doubting my skill?" he asked, pretending to be offended. Was she doubting him and his ability to protect them? For some reason, that question really bothered him. Perhaps it was because he was tired of being so alone or the fact that they still had a long road ahead of them that he yearned for her trust. "Please. You're not doing anyone any favor by pushing yourself like this."

Gwen tried to smile but even that was too much at that moment. It's... been a while since someone other than Serana told her to look after herself. Dear Divines, how much she missed her friend now. 

"Fine." she answered, getting off the seat and going to lay in the back, her head resting against the luggage, as if it were a pillow. "Wake me up when we arrive, ok?"

"Ok. Sweet dreams." he promised, relieved that at last, she listened.

He watched her drift to sleep, the expression on her face highly strained. He wanted to believe that it was the uncomfortable setting, but he had a feeling that was not the case. Something was eating away at her, and for once, he cursed the distance between them, the fact that he couldn't get close. He wanted to help her, but he knew that they had to be stay detached from each other. 

He looked up, the skies never feeling so cold as at that moment. Why did he have to come across such a troublesome woman?


	13. Mehrunes’ Razor. Part 6

Ornstein exhaled in relief when the carriage made it past The Reach and into the planes of the Whiterun hold, wiping away the beads of sweat dripping down his brow. The road from Markarth to the border had been nothing but a headache, wolves, bears and sabre cats attacking them at last once every two hours. They posed no challenge, but the sheer number was getting on his nerves. Gwen had awakened from her sleep now and then, disturbed by his constant movement, but each time he assured her everything was alright and encouraged her to return to her slumber. Still overcome by fatigue, she obeyed, but the tension on her face didn't fade. On the contrary, it only seemed to get worse.

Just what had happened to bring her into that state?

He went over yesterday's events, trying to understand what could have caused the sudden change in her, when a roar pierced the sky, sending shivers down his spine. He looked around, frantically searching for the beast, until his gaze stopped on the mountains not far from them, clouds of smoke rising in the air. 

Of all the things to happen...!

"Oh! For crying out loud!" Gwen groaned, taking the knight by surprise. 

Before Ornstein could protest, she was already on her feet, sword in hand, jumping off the carriage and onto the ground, her blue eyes filled with rage. 

"You are in no position to fight!" the former captain cried out, following her. 

"Do you have a better idea?" she asked him sarcastically.

He looked around them, trying to find a place to hide, but there was no cave, nor forest in sight, the few gathering of trees surrounding them not enough to hide them from the creature's eyes, and worse, its fire breath. Clutching the handle of the great-sword with all his strength, he ordered the driver to get away while they dealt with the menace. There was no point in trying to get his armor, as he had no time to put it on, the roars growing closer and louder as seconds passed by. His gaze fixated on the mountains, the outlines of wings appearing from beyond the snowed peaks.

"It's going to be ok." he heard Gwen whisper, his attention falling upon her. 

He held back a curse, seeing her poor state. She was trembling, her gasp on the sword being rather sloppy, the weapon most likely to slip from her hands at the slightest knock. The spells which usually danced so beautifully in her palm were now nothing more than pale ghosts, betraying her lack of focus and fatigue. He wanted to force her to run away, but knew that even if she did, there was not enough time for her to escape.

Damn it all! Had no one listened to his prayers?!

"It's coming." she said, clutching her sword tighter. 

He looked up, and what he saw almost made his jaw drop. 

The beast emerged from behind the mountain peaks. It was covered in neither stone nor fur, bronze-colored scales glimmering in the sunlight, green eyes reflecting a ravenous hunger. Its wings and front legs merged together, long fingers united by a thick, yellow membrane, claws already colored crimson from earlier prey. It was large, almost the size of a house. Almost.

"That...is not a dragon." Ornstein said, his shoulder slumped a bit, but not losing his posture.

"Huh?" Gwen tilted her head in confusion, averting her gaze from the approaching threat to him. 

"That's a wyvern." he replied, pointing at the creature with the end of his blade. "They are way weaker than dragons. Are you telling me this is what everyone's all worked up about?" he asked, disbelief dripping like wet paint from his words.

"Um....yeah? Are you- are you serious right now?" she replied completely incredulous.

"This is unbelievable." he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and looking away. "Here I was, worrying that we'd have to face a fucking DRAGON, only to find out that we are actually dealing with an overgrown lizard!" he complained, motioning towards the beast. 

"Ok. One. This is not the time and two. THIS IS NOT THE TIME!" the Nord yelled at him, both exasperated and tired. 

What the hell had gotten into him?

"AH! DOVAHKIIN! MU GRIND AHST LAAT!" the Elder Dragon spoke, landing in front of the duo, the action making the ground shake beneath their feet. 

Gwen lost her balance and was about to fall before Ornstein caught her, but as she was about to thank him, he pushed her away, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

"Go and hide somewhere. I'll take care of this." he said, focusing all his attention on the wyvern. 

"DUR MEY! YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME MORTAL?!" it screeched, throwing its head up to let out another roar. "ZU'U YOLZAH-!"

"Spare me your speeches. I'm not interested." Ornstein interrupted it, stepping in front of it with the pride and confidence that once characterized him so. 

He might not have had his armor nor spear by his side, but he didn't need them. A wyvern was not like a dragon. Size aside, it di not have the speed, the agility its betters possessed, and most importantly, it lacked the protection of the stone scales, the thing which Ornstein had feared most. And the way it kept its head low, it was almost inviting the knight to cut it off. Given these circumstances, he was more than confident that he could best it by himself. There was no need for Gwen to get involved and risk herself get hurt or worse. 

"PAHLOK MEY!" the beast roared, pulling its head back, black smoke and crimson flames dancing at the corners of its mouth. 

"FUS RO DAH!" 

Gwen's shout echoed through, the raw force hitting the creature in the face, interrupting its own Thu'um, pushing it back, almost knocking it over. 

"Ornstein! Now!" the woman screamed, casting ice lances and throwing them at the dragon's head and throat.

The spell shattered upon impact, covering the beast's face with thin layers of ice, blinding it. The knight didn't wait another second. Quickly, he rushed towards the wyvern and pierced its wings with the blade, leaving a deep, long gash, crimson blood spraying all over him. At least that one didn't stink. The creature screech, and tried to grab him, slash at him with its claws, but the knight was faster, avoiding each attempt with both grace and ease. Meanwhile, Gwen continued to throw spells at it, one of the projectiles landing in its eyes and blinding it. Ornstein continued to slash at it, focusing mainly on the throat where the scales were covered in frost, their resistance weakened. It had no time to shout, each attempt being cut off by a new injury, Thu'um or spell. 

The creature had turned out to be more resilient than the knight expected, putting up a fight even as its neck was torn to pieces and its life draining away. At one point, he had no other choice but to change tactics and he knew exactly what to do. In a risky attempt, he jumped on its head, grabbing its horns to steady himself. As expected, the wyvern trashed and roared, trying to shake him off. Gwen no longer fired her spells at it, afraid that she'd hit him, thus she could only stay and watch in fright as he fought to not lose his grip and be thrown hundreds of feet in the air. When that failed and the monster took a break, the blood loss finally taking its toll on it, Ornstein took the chance and drove his blade right into its skull, the loud crack echoing through the air. 

He got down, exhausted and reeking of blood, sweat dripping down his brow and back. 

""You idiot!" Gwen screamed, running towards him. "What...what the hell...were y-you thinking?" she asked through ragged breath, crashing into his arms the moment she reached him, her fists weakly punching against his chest. 

He chuckled, looking down at her, absent mindedly reaching out to ruffle her hair. 

"Thanks for helping me." he said. "You could have run away."

Though he hadn't wanted to have gotten her involved, he was glad that she had staid, that she fought by his side. 

"W-would...never...do that." she replied, looking up to stare at him, trails of tears glistering in the sunlight.

Yeah. She would never abandon anyone. It was foolish of him to even think about it. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close to his chest, trying not to squeeze her too hard. 

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to the corpse of the fallen beast, flames beginning to rise from beneath the scales, devouring its flesh, blood and skin with a graceful, terrifying dance. He pushed Gwen away, placing himself between her and the burning corpse. 

"What the hell is going on?" he asked, his eyes fixated on the burning corpse. 

"It's surrendering its soul to me." came Gwen's reply from behind him.

Gently, she pushed him away and stepped towards the creature, the flames, now blue and gold rose into the air and surrounded her. She delighted herself in the warm embrace, her mind filled with memories of their fallen foe as their souls merged into one. The sky as seen through the eyes of a dragon was a beautiful sight, the feeling of freedom those wings provided them, unlike anything she ever sensed before. It was... intoxicating. Words of power, ancient knowledge, it all filled her mind like an avalanche. Somethings she could grasp, the meaning of the words clear as day, but some were still engulfed in fog. No matter, soon, she will unveil those secrets as well, like she always did. 

"A dragon may be mortal in flesh," she began to speak, sensing Ornstein's bewildered gaze upon her, "but their souls live on and as long as that remains so, they can always return. Only a Dragonborn can truly kill them and prevent them from ever returning." she continued.

The flames were gone and where once stood the ferocious beast, now where only a pile of bones, resembling the creature it had once been. 

"And you do that by absorbing their souls." the knight said, staring at the corpse, or better said, what was left of it.

"Yeah." she affirmed, looking up at the sky.

Silence fell between them, neither knowing what to say. Ornstein was still taken aback by all this. From the very moment he saw her, he knew there was something off about Gwen, but never in a million years would he have thought that she was capable of devouring souls. To think the gods here granted a mere mortal so much power. What could have driven them to do so?

"Guys! You're still alive!" 

Both of them turned around in time to see the carriage approaching, the river waving a hand at them, a bright smile plastered on his face. 

"Looks like it's time to go. Hopefully, there won't be any more-" Ornstein began, only to be interrupted by Gwen covering his mouth with the tips of her fingers. 

"Don't jinx it!" she ordered him with the most serious look she could muster. 

At that the man couldn't help it, but bust out laughing, much to the other's exasperation. 

"If we get attacked again until we get to Riverwood, I'm leaving you to your fate." she grunted, passing by him and heading towards the carriage.

Yeah. As if she'd ever do that.

"And we better find a river soon. You look horrible with all that blood on you." she added, turning her head to look at him. 

With that, he couldn't argue. He traced his palm across his cheek, frowning at the sensation of the dried blood sticking to the skin. He didn't want to picture how he looked like with the rest of his clothes stained crimson. And once again, he truly wished he could have had some repair powder on him. Ugh! Who would have thought that of all the things to miss some dust was number one? 

✠♦✠

He was no fool. He expected the man whose armor Gwen had asked him to fix a week ago to be tall, but by the Divine, he didn't think he'd be THAT tall. Even as the blacksmith stood at the top of the stairs leading up his home, the knight still towered over him by a head. Was he some sort of giant hybrid? Not that he ever heard of something like that before. However, as intriguing as the stranger’s origins were, there was something else he had to focus on, mainly the same chest piece he had repaired not long ago and now stood before him once more, in an even worse condition than before. A pity, truly. Not even the highest ranking officers of the Imperial Army were offered such high quality sets made from real gold and adorned with precious gems. To see it ruined once more...were it not for the height difference, he would smack the knight on the back of his head.

"You better have a damn good reason for this." the man said, examining the damage, the melted gold, the shattered garnets. "Did you fight a dragon or something?" he asked, tapping the scratch marks. 

"Hagraven." Gwen chimed in, answering before Ornstein had the chance to. "Someone thought it would be a good idea to take a fireball head on." she added, throwing the giant a playful glare.

"Laugh all you want, I'm not the one who got troll blood all over my armor." he retorted, his eyes drifting to the corner of the terrace where lied the bucket in which the item in question was soaking in herbal water, the stench still emanating from it. 

The Dragonborn lightly punched him in the arm before returning her attention to washing the leather clothing. Alvor laughed at that then resumed his inspection, the Dragonslayer looking concerned at the frown forming on his brow.

"How long will it take to fix?" he asked.

"Time is not the issue here." the blacksmith replied, tapping a finger against the golden chestplate. "It's the materials. I have no more garnets and gold and I'm afraid I don't know when the new shipment will arrive." he continued with a heavy sigh. 

Ornstein felt the sky come crashing down on him hearing the verdict. No. There had to be something they could do. He couldn't walk around without his armor and wearing something else felt a bad taste in his mouth, not to mention he doubted he'd be able to find anything that fit him. 

"Perhaps we could buy some from the Warmaiden's in Whiterun." Gwen proposed, lifting her head from the bucket to look at the two of them.

"I could try to ask Ulfberth about it, but I advise against getting your hopes up. With only one gold mine in the entire land and all the problems going on..." Alvor didn't finish the thought, crossing his arms and shaking his head. 

The door to the house opened and out came Dorthe, the scent of fresh berries clinging to her clothes, crimson stains of snowberry juice staining her apron. 

"Mom said to come eat." she called out to them, her eyes lingering on the Dragonborn and giant knight, before she disappeared back in the house, leaving the door open behind her. 

Alvor chuckled and motioned the two guests to follow him inside where the table was set, delicious fragrances rising from bowls with apple and cabbage stew, plates with spiced beef and fresh baked bread. 

"Finally. What took you lot so long?" Sigrid asked, coming up from the basement carrying two pots of snowberry jam in her arms. "I was about to come and drag you here myself." she joked, setting the items down. "Oh! And there's no need to worry," she added, turning to face Ornstein, "once Alvor starts eating, he finally shuts up."

"Hey!" her husband called out to her, reaching out to grab her by she eluded his grasp just in time, walking over to the other side of the room. 

"I'm going out now." she said, picking up an empty flower basket. "I promised Hilde I'll help her knit a blanket. Have a good meal, everyone." she wished them as she went out. 

The rest of the evening passed by quietly with no major events. After the meal, they returned to the forge where, as Gwen was struggling to clean her armor and Alvor was working at the forge, Ornstein was listening to Dorthe, answering the questions she had for him now and then. Just like back in Morthal with Helgi, the Dragonborn was impressed by how he acted towards her. He was patient, carrying, showing interest in what she had to say, laughing whenever she complained about her friend and his silly ideas. He even showed her a few moves with the sword at her request. 

Gwen couldn't help but wonder, did he have a family back in Lordran? A wife and children? If so, she couldn't imagine the pain he must have been going through, being so far away from them, with no way to return home. If only they knew the Daedra who sent him there. She doubted it was Mehrunes Dagon. His sphere of influence was chaos and revolution and Skyrim had enough of that. No need to bring strangers to stir up an already boiling pot. And there was also that laughter he kept mentioning about. If only... A headache was creeping through, the answer so close yet so far. Ugh! Which one was it? The name was on the tip of her tongue, yet no matter how hard she thought about it, it slipped through her fingers like water. Why couldn't she remember?

"Gwen, are you alright?" she heard Ornstein ask her. 

"Yeah. " she replied with a nod. "Just...I think I'm going to get some more herbs. I'm going to pick some mountain flowers. Be right back." she said, wiping the water off her hands with a nearby rag and walking away, towards the three standing stones, outside of the village. 

Ornstein watched her go, a worried frown appearing on his face. 

" _Keep your distance, Ornstein. It's for the best._ " he told himself, but why did it sound so much like a lie now?

✠♦✠

Leaves rustled as the wind danced through them in its way towards the heavens, thin branches lazily swaying along with it. Butterflies hovered above the mountain flowers, looking for a place to rest. Through the sound of rushing water, the buzzing of the dragonflies could be heard, and as usual, in the spot above which they hovered over, the scales of fishes sparkled beneath the water surface. The three standing stones with the mage, the warrior and the thief, engraved in rock watching over the passerby, inviting them to make their choice. Nobody would be judged, regardless of their choice. All that was requested, was that they stayed true to their hearts. 

In the distance, across the river, The Bleak Falls Barrow stood proud atop the mountain, looking down upon the valley below, its mere presence striking fear in the hearts of those who cast their gaze upon it. Attracted by the promises of riches hidden inside, but few ever returned and those who did, never spoke of what they saw inside. There was no gold, no silver, no precious gems inside, only undead cursed for eternity to guard those halls, lying in wait for the unwary explorer to make the first mistake, get too close, fall prey to their own curiosity.

Gwen sighed and took a seat on the side of the road among a patch of tall thistle flowers, tall pine trees casting shadows upon her. Not far from her, in a cave near the river, Aliana, a huntress who usually spend her days there, fishing and hunting was no more, leaving the Nord to feel all alone. Which at that moment was exactly what she needed. 

She began to massage her temples, her thoughts continuing to go over everything she knew about the Daedra, trying to figure out who was behind Ornstein's plight. Her thoughts spiraled once more towards Dagon and his desire for chaos. She didn't believe him to be the culprit. There was no reason for him to. Molag Bal? Ornstein was a kind and honorable man, and there was nothing more the Prince loved more than to corrupt those like him, break them down and reduce them to nothing. Oh! She knew very well the extends of his sadistic desires and the means he'd resort to in order to reach his callous goals. Yet, something didn't seem right about this theory. There was a missing piece, a link to complete the chain. The laughter...why couldn't she...

"Look out!" 

Gwen snapped out of her thoughts, turning around in time to see a wolf lunge towards her, jaws wide open, saliva coated fangs ready to snap her throat. Instinctively, she raised her arm to shield herself the beast, frost taking form in her free hand, teeth clenched in preparation for the impact. Except that it never came. 

In the blink of an eye, the wolf fell to the ground and its body rolled of the edge of the riverbed and into the restless stream below. Gwen stared at the corpse drifting away, a strange arrow lodged deep into the socket of its left eye. 

"Pfew! That was close!" came a voice from near her, accompanied by a soft bark. "You alright miss?"

She turned her head to see who was talking. Next to her stood a tall, fair-skinned Nord, with light green eyes, and short, brown hair. He dotted a strange set of armor, resembling that of a hunter, completely black, on his back resting a bow and quiver with arrows resembling the one which took down the beast from before. Speaking of it, beside him was an auburn colored wolf, the creature busy with sniffing the woman. 

"Um...yeah...I'm fine. Thank you for saving me." she said, getting up to her feet. 

"The pleasure was all mine." the man said, taking her left hand in his and wrapping his other arm around her waist.

Her cheeks began to burn as she stared into the man's eyes, the strange look inside them stirring an odd feeling inside her.

"After all, it isn't every day I get to save such a beauty as you." he said, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against her skin. 

Now, Gwen's face was as red as a tomato, the smug smile blooming on his lips not helping either. It wasn't the first time someone called her such, but it was mostly drunkards who wanted only a night of fun nothing more. She learned early to never lend her ear to their words and only ignore them. She had enough to worry about, no need to add to her burdens. However, the way this man talked, and acted. It was obvious that he was used to seducing women to make them fall at his feet. She dealt with many like him before, a well-timed fireball or ice lance usually enough to send them on their way. Now, she couldn't do that even if she wanted to, the racing of her heart casting a fog wall on her mind, rendering her focus useless. 

She tried to speak, but no words came out, only a mess of sounds that made her blush harder. Damn! Why did she have to act like an idiot now of all times?!

The stranger's smile widened, his eyes sparkling with delight.

"Don't worry, love. You need not say a thing, just let it go." he spoke, leaning closer, his lips mere centimeters away from her. 

Gwen's mind was all over the place, the promise of a kiss so close now. Just as he was about to press his lips against hers, a voice came from behind him, startling both Nords. 

"Hey! What are you doing there?" Aliana asked, coming towards them, an empty fishing net on her back.

In his surprise, the stranger let go of Gwen, and the woman in return stepped back, trying to get away from him, her face still burning. However, in her stupor, she forgot about her surroundings, her foot slipping off the cliff and making her fall into the stream below. 

"What the-! Hey! You ok?" the stranger screamed, bending down over the edge to watch the Nord emerge back to the surface.

"Never better." she shouted back. " _Especially now when I'm away from you._ "she thought but did not voice it. 

Thankfully, she landed in a spot where the water was much deeper, and she hadn't gotten injured too badly. Nothing a healing spell couldn't fix. She swam to the shore where the huntress' cave was, Aliana already waiting for her, tapping her foot against the ground, glaring daggers at the stranger and his wolf who were on their way. 

"The hell was that about? Were you so stunned by me that you forgot where you were?" the man asked with a smirk. 

Gwen felt her face begin to burn again as she struggled to find a reply. Thankfully, Aliana saved her, grabbing her by the hand and dragged her back to the path towards Riverwood, stepping on the stranger's foot as she passed by him, hard enough to make him scream. 

"What the hell woman?!" he yelled from behind them as he held his injured foot.

The huntress didn't dignify him with an answer, continuing to stride towards the village, the Dragonborn in tow. 

Gwen didn't know what to make of the situation. Aliana was usually a gentle soul. Though she enjoyed her solitude and not to be disturbed, she didn't mind some company now and then, and never turned down a soul in need. She was a Breton who came to Skyrim a long time ago, after losing everything she had save for the clothes on her back. She knew what it meant to be a stranger in a new land, to have nothing an struggled to get back up on one's feet and it was that knowledge that made the two get along. Seeing this side of her was completely new to the Nord. Her grip on the wrist of the Dragonborn was something to consider as well. It was extremely firm, the bone struggling to resist the amount of force put onto it. 

"What's the matter, Aliana? What happened?" Gwen asked, wincing from the pain in her wrist.

"Bishop, that's happened." Aliana answered, spitting on the ground as if the very name was rotten. "Sleazy bastard! Stay away from him, Gwen. He's nothing but trouble." 

Gwen swallowed the lump in her throat, a glance at the woman's anger filled eyes letting her know that it would be best not to speak of him anymore. He didn't strike her like a guy as evil as Aliana made him out to be, but as much as she loathed to admit it, she was not a great judge of character. Thus, she kept her mouth shut, her thoughts flying in another direction, a more pressing matter rising as they got closer to Riverwood.

How the hell was she going to explain being soaked without making a fool of herself? 

✠♦✠

If anything, Gwen was a horrible liar. For Lord Gwyn's sake, Artorias was better at making up stories than she was, and that man could barely look him in the eye while doing so. If that didn't scream deceit, nothing did. 

Ornstein was leaning against the stone wall outside the village, staring at the Nord as she hung her clothes up to dry on a string above a campfire, Sigrid's robes hanging loose upon her body. Her hands and face no longer bore the marks of the cuts left by the fall, the healing spell she had cast upon her, having worked wonders in removing any trace of their existence. She claimed she was daydreaming and walked off a cliff, but the way she blushed and avoided any further questioning begged to differ. Not to mention how the woman who accompanied her, Aliana was her name?, acted while she shared the tale of her mischief. Arms crossed, eyes glaring at the gate of the village. Something else had happened while she was away, he was sure of it...but was it right to pester her about it? 

" _To hell with it. I'm getting involved._ " he thought, coughing to get the Nord's attention.

"Did you catch a cold?" the Dragonborn asked, turning to glance at him.

The way her thoughts flew directly to his health... Seriously, this woman.

"No. I was just hoping you'd enlighten me as to what actually happened while you were away." he said, amber eyes looking at her, as he did many times during an interrogation. Except this time, he wasn't planning on using fear to get the answers he needed. 

Gwen averted her gaze, unable to bear the pressure his mere stare put on her. Why couldn't he just accept the lie and get over it? She continued to fiddle with the trousers, trying to ignore the feeling of discomfort festering in her chest. 

"I told you. I was daydreaming and walked off a cliff. You've seen me do it before. Except I walked into a door." she argued, fingers kneading the black fabric, praying that the explanation would satisfy him. 

True, she did do that. Except that time, it was no ruse. 

"I know you're capable of such clumsiness," Ornstein admitted with a sigh, "but...we both know that this wasn't the case this time." he continued, placing his hands on his sides. "I hate being lied to, Gwen. Especially by those I consider friends." 

The Nord dropped the trousers, turning to look at him, eyes open wide and mouth ajar. 

"What?" he asked, taken aback by her reaction. 

"N-nothing!" she shouted, resuming her previous position, back against him. "It's just that...I didn't know you thought of me as a friend." she added, nearly whispering.

"What? Of course, you're my friend. What did you think you were?" he inquired. Was she serious right now? 

"I-I mean...it's not like...it's not like we'll see each other again after you return to Lordran, will we?" she replied, keeping her head low, her face away from his view. 

At that, Ornstein was flabbergasted. H-how long did she knew that? Did she figure it out from the very beginning, or sometime along the way? Oh, it didn't matter. All that counted was the fact that she was aware, that whatever they had was not meant to last. 

He didn't say anything, turning on his heel and walking away, leaving her there to finish her task. What was there to say anyway? Lie? Tell her that they would see each other again? What use would it be? It would only prolong the illusion, making it all the more painful hen it was time for it to be torn apart.

Alvor and his family were already asleep when he returned, the blacksmith's snores ringing throughout the entire house, covering the sounds of the knight's steps. He did walk as silently as possible though, not wanting to disturb them, as he made his way to the basement where two sleeping bags were prepared for him and Gwen.

As he lied down on his side, eyes closed, he thought once more about his plans to go back home, if...there was a home to return to. He had no idea if the Chosen Undead had managed to fulfil their duty and rekindle the First Flame or if they failed. Lordran might either be back to normal by the time he managed to find a way back or be engulfed in eternal dark. The possibility scared him, and he didn't want to even consider it. But he had to. He had to be prepared. 

He made a promise, thousands of years ago, that no matter what, he will find him, and he was going to keep it. Be it Age of Dark of Fire, nothing will stop him this time. Not even an annoying, laughing god of another world. Perhaps it was best that Gwen admitted to knowing the truth. At least, now he won't have to worry about getting her hurt since she knew what awaited them in the end. 

It was for the best...right?

He snapped out of his thought, feeling movement besides him. He didn't turn to look at her, unable to bear seeing the look on her face, whatever that might be. 

"I'm going after the shards tomorrow." he heard her say. 

How she knew that he was awake was beside him, but it didn't matter.

"Ok. I'll see if Alvor has some spare ar-" he began, only for her to cut him off.

"I'm going alone. There's something I must do on the way. There's no point in dragging you along." she said, her tone much colder than usual. 

"Don't be stupid." he scolded her, finally turning to look at her and of course, she had her back to him. "I'm coming with you. I'll make sure to stay out of the way of whatever you need to do."

She didn't reply, the steady rhythm of her breath letting him know that she was already asleep. From having trouble sleeping, to falling into it in an instant...she was surely something. He sighed and returned to lying on his side, eyes staring at the ceiling above, the blacksmith's snores echoing from the room above reminding him of the days when he had to share a tent with ten other soldiers as ash storms ravaged outside. 

"I'm sorry for hurting you." were the last words he said, before turning on his side and falling into a deep slumber, unaware of the quiet sobs of the woman next to him. 

It wasn't he that hurt her, but the realization, that in the end, she was always meant to be alone.


	14. Mehrunes’ Razor. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !WARNING: Kind of a heavy chapter? Not really sure, but I thought I'll let you guys know anyway.!!
> 
> Enjoy!

The stars shone bright on the darkened sky, Secunda and Masser looking down upon the world, their mystiques displayed for all to see. Lunar moths flew through the air, dancing together with the torchbugs, a soft buzz ringing through the air, just another piece of the night's symphony, the last one to be played before the morning sun came up. Some musicians still sung along, the wolves howling at the moons, bathing them in words of grace, praying to Hircine for a rich hunt the day to come. Flowers swayed in the gentle breeze, their still opened petals letting the sweet scent flow and spread through the air. 

Gwen sighed and took a seat on the side of the road, the lake Ilinalta sparkling underneath the moonlight, scarlet flames glimmering in the direction of the Fisherman's Island. It was a nice place, not too far away from the mainland, where the slaughterfish dwelled freely, lurking in wait for prey, nor too close, allowing anyone easy access, but also providing a feeling of intimacy. But as much as the Dragonborn wished to go there and spend the rest of the night there, lying on the grass and listening to the sounds of the night. But, alas, that was only a silly wish. 

✠♦✠

It began again, that sensation of an ill omen hovering over her head, gnawing at the back of her mind, leaving her to stare at a dark ceiling and listen to Alvor's snores like the ticks of a clock counting away the minutes until the morning sun rose. She couldn't stand there any longer, those four walls feeling more and more like a cage, sucking the air out of her lungs, leaving her to struggle. As carefully and silently as she could, she slid out of the sleeping bag grateful that Ornstein was a deep sleeper and any sound she made was covered by the blacksmith's snores. She went outside, and headed towards the mill, the wheel still turning, large logs waiting by the saw to be cut and delivered all over Skyrim. Near the lumber mill, at the base of a tree stump covered in Mora Tapinella, was buried a small sack, in which a leather armor was stored, along with health and magika potions, and a few other necessities. 

Gwen smiled as she unveiled the items, the crimson liquid enclosed in the glass vials shining just as beautifully as ever. She never understood how Fjorn managed to make her concoctions last for years to come, regardless of how much she studied. More so, she was overly grateful for the witch's habit to leave small bags like this all over Skyrim. 

"You never know what might happen." she used to say as she buried the sacks under the curious gaze of her pupil, "There might come a day when you need to refill your stock and there is nothing that can help you. And even if you don't need them, someone else might make us of them."

And now it was such a time.

After finding a secluded spot, hidden well by the vast flora growing all over Riverwood, she changed out of Sigrid's dress and into the armor,. After making sure to fold the robe and leave in at the forge, somewhere thieves wouldn't be able to get to it, along with a note apologizing for her sudden departure, she turned on her heel and left, with only the moonlight to bid her farewell. 

As she walked towards Falkreath, fighting the hungry beasts looking for prey, the feeling subsided, giving her respite at last. It didn't leave her side, sticking to her like a shadow, but its persistence had faded enough to be considered nothing more than an annoying bug, but that was good enough for her. She yearned to know the source of it, but at the same, she was frightened by what she might find. Yet... this couldn't continue. Especially now.

Her thoughts ran back to Ornstein, to the truth that had been hanging between them like a bad stench and was finally brought to light. At first, it was a hunch, nothing to be preoccupied with. She was busier with keeping him alive and helping him get back on his feet rather than anything else. Thinking about it, they barely spend any time together and hardly knew anything about each other. She had no reason to feel the way she did and yet...her heart ached, regardless of logic.

"You get attached too easily, Gwen. You barely knew me, yet you still trusted me with your soul back in Soul Cairn. I'm not saying I'm not grateful for it, but you need to be more careful. I don't want to see you get hurt because you trusted the wrong person." Serana told her once, while they were having a heart to heart conversation. 

And she was right. Gwen was quick to place her trust in others and ignore all other signs that screamed how much of a bad idea it was. Sometimes, it helped her, leading her to make great friends such as Serana and Erandur, but there were times when she got tricked, hurt, and nearly killed as well. 

Ugh! She was such a pitiful fool. 

Ornstein did the right thing. He kept his distance. No feelings involved; no attachment being made just as it ought to be. She really ought to learn from him in that regard. 

But for now, she needed to clear her head if she wished to rid herself of those thoughts and bothersome feelings. And in order to do that, she needed to be alone. 

✠♦✠

A cuss left his lips as soon as he opened his eyes and saw the empty space next to him. He quickly got up and rushed upstairs, hoping that she would still be there, the laughter and gleeful chatter strengthening it....only to crush it when he saw that she was nowhere to be seen. 

By Lord Gwyn, she was gone.

"Good morning. Something wrong?" Alvor asked, noticing the guest's expression. 

"Have any of you seen Gwen?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice calm. 

"She had to leave early in the morning." Sigrid answered as she placed a dress in a drawer.

Ornstein recognized it as the one she had lent the Dragonborn the day before. 

"She left a note saying she'll be back by nightfall and not to worry." the woman continued, turning around to look at the knight, pulling the letter in question out of the pocket of her apron. "Anyway, sit down and eat. The food is getting cold." 

She gave him the note and urged him towards to the table, where a bowl of soup was waiting for him. 

"I...I see. Thank you very much." he said, sounding calm on the outside, but being a mess on the inside. 

Why did she go alone? Was she truly so hurt by yesterday's conversation? He should have paid more attention to her, talk things out. Instead he decided to sleep on it believing that it would be better to have this conversation in the morning. A lie. A big fat lie. He was actually scared, terrified of facing it, of the change that this knowledge would bring upon their relationship. He liked the way things were in between them, this easy going atmosphere, this liberty of being himself. He feared that once the fleeting nature of their relationship was revealed, everything would change. She'd no longer regard him with the kindness like before, growing cold towards him. Of course, such would be for the best, yet for some reason, just the thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth. 

"She's going to be fine. That girl has faced more hardships than we could imagine. Believe me when I say that she's one though lady." Alvor spoke, snapping the knight out of his thoughts. 

Ornstein looked up before averting his gaze and nodding weakly.

Yeah. Gwen was strong, he knew that. She was more than capable of taking care of herself and thought he knew that thought should offer him comfort, it only brought up a thought that he had forced himself to ignore all this time. Because she was alone, she had to learn how to fend for herself. She taught herself how to fight with a sword and experimented with sorceries until she got it right. She had people to show her the way, but then, for some reason, they would disappear, and she would be left to figure the rest out by herself. She had friends that he knew, but they couldn't often be with her. Erandur had his duty to the people of Dawnstar, that woman, Serana, had to leave due to some circumstances. And he was bound to do the same...By the gods, how blind and selfish could he be? 

He was so scared and preoccupied with his own feelings, he hadn't thought of hers at all. He thought protecting her and trying to ease her burden would be enough. How wrong he was. In truth, he was doing what he hated most, hurting more and more. 

Perhaps it would be best if they kept their distance, for real this time... It was for the best.

✠♦✠

"Must have been my-" 

The moment the arrow struck, the Orc fell, the loud thud of his body hitting the ground drawing the attention of his comrades, who came to check what was going on. The moment they got too close, another projectile sliced the air, another body to be buried later.

Two down. One more to go. 

"Show yourself, coward!" the Orc left standing yelled, weapons drawn and ready to fight.

A deep breath, a clear mind, gaze focused on the target. He avoided the first arrow, and threw his axe her way, before she could fire the second. She took a big risk getting so close to the camp, making her way through the rubble of the fallen tower, and climbing on the wall, and now she was paying for it dearly. She jumped out of her hiding spot, abandoning the bow in favor of the sword and spells. Just as she landed, an arrow flew past her, followed by a stinging feeling running across her left cheek, warm blood seeping through a cut. She looked in the direction it came from, cussing as she saw another Orc she hadn't noticed before ready the next projectile. 

"There you are wench! I'll make you pay for what you did to my comrades!" the first one shouted, rushing over to her, his anger making him blind to the shards of ice forming in her palm. 

She fired a steady flow of frost. No point using stronger spells now and waste her mana when there was still an entire fort to take on. Though he made no effort to get away, taking the blast in full, he showed no signs of slowing down his stride any less. That was what she hated about Orcs. Their endurance was always a pain to deal with. And he was a dual wielder too. Just great.

She dodged the incoming blade and arrow and fired a fire ball at the archer. His screams echoed through the valley as scarlet flames devoured his flesh, inciting the other's hatred even more. Insults filled the air as he rushed once more towards the Nord, eyes filled with rage. He raised his weapon and brought it down with such force, the Dragonborn's knees buckling under it when she blocked it with her own blade. A high pitched- broken sound rang into her ear, another curse leaving her lips as she noticed the cracks forming in the steel. She knew she should have switched her weapon back in Falkreath!

Taking advantage of her distraction, the Orc kicked her in the stomach, causing her to stumble and fall backwards, the sword knocked out of her hand.

"Damn it!" she shouted, struggling to get back up on her feet, when her enemy stepped on her left arm, pain spreading through her entire body, rendering her unable to move. 

"Not so tough now, are we?" the Orc laughed, his gaze locked with hers. "You've caused us a lot of trouble, milk-drinker," he continued, bending down, hand reaching to grab a lock of her silver hair "and I'm going to make sure you'll regret it for the rest of your miserable life."

"We'll see about that." she said, a wide smirk blooming on her face. "FUS RO DAH!" 

The shout pushed him back and into an annex attached to the fortress wall, landing on a poorly made drawer, wooden spikes penetrating his back and internal organs. He tried getting up, but each effort made the sticks impale him further. After two minutes which felt like an eternity, he stopped moving altogether, cursing the woman with his dying gasp. 

Gwen paid him no mind, getting back up on her feet with her eyes locked on the other Orc, the stench of charred flesh making her stomach churn. Good thing she hadn't eaten anything that day. She shifted her focus back to the pain in her arm and torso, a wince escaping her lips when she looked down to survey the damage. The bone was broken no doubt about that. Slowly, she cast the Great Healing spell on herself, reliving in the warmth and sensation of cartilage mending itself together. It was a strange feeling, one few found pleasant, though why exactly she couldn't tell. Alas, this was not the time. 

After her arm was healed, she looked around for a new weapon to use, her current sword no longer able to serve her well. Thankfully, she didn't have to look long. 

Resting on a table near the forge, was an orcish sword next to a set of leather armor Smiling, she took the blade, admiring the way it glimmered into the sunlight. The design was rather barbaric and unrefined, however that mattered little now. There was no time to be a choosing beggar. She threw one quicker glance at her surroundings, the amount of loot spread all across the place making her heart flutter with delight. It was a lot, but nothing a little determination couldn't solve, after she was done with her current task, of course.

Next, she focused her attention on the two doors leading inside the fort. She approached the first one, the words of the Aura Whisper already rolling off her tongue, revealing three silhouettes inside, two near the entrance and one farther in the back. Nobody seemed to be around the second one, thus the Nord decided to try her luck with that one...aaand it was locked...perfect. 

She tried to pick the lock, but with each wrong turn and increasing number of broken lockpicks, Gwen's patience was running lower and lower, till she decided to give up on it. She threw her hands in the air in frustration, a new broken lockpick still clenched in between her fingers. 

"Fine! I'm going through the front door if that's what I must do!" she shouted at the heavens, fatigue and hunger fueling the flames of her anger. 

With the sword clenched tight in her fist, she strode to the main entrance and barged in, ignoring the screams and battle cries of the two Orcs, pulled away from their moment of blissful ignorance, unaware of the death of their comrades outside. The first one rushed towards her, warhammer held high, ready to smash her head in only one hit. Before he could fully swing it however, she bombarded him with an avalanche of fire balls, each one exploding the moment they made contact with their target, throwing the entire room in disarray and catching the other Orc in their blast, injuring him as well. Again, the foul scent rising from the corpses along with the smoke of the burning wooden furniture and furs lied on the floor, was enough to make her gag. Her eyes stung from it, tears beginning to gather at the corners of her eyes. Unable to stand it anymore, she kicked the door down and rushed outside, a violent fit of coughs taking over her. She bend down, clutching her chest as her lungs were clearing off the smoke she inhaled while inside.

"Disgusting wench!" someone cried out from behind her. 

She looked back towards the burning room, a figure emerging the flames, dark, greenish metal and that primitive form reminding her of that of a lesser Daedra. 

"You will pay for this!, you wench" he shouted, rushing over to her. 

Ah! If only she had a septim every time she heard that phrase that day. 

Still dizzy from the smoke she inhaled and her throat not yet ready for another shout, she could do nothing but run away from him, trying her best to keep her distance, as her mind was clearing up. If only Ornstein was by her...no! She had to deal with this on her own! She had to stop wishing for others to come and save her butt. She was able to take care of herself before and she had to do it again.

She turned to face him, and though she knew she will regret it later, she inhaled deeply and let the Thu'um free.

"FUS RO DAH!" 

Just like before, the force of the shout pushed him back, causing him to land back in the burning room. Gwen kept her eyes locked onto it, blood sipping down her chin as her throat screamed at her for what she had done. When he hadn't returned, she fell to her knees and bend down, couching more violently than before, crimson droplets appearing before her on the grass less ground. She struggled to open a health potion, the only one she had on her, but the violent tremor of her body making it hard to open the lid and bring it to her mouth without spilling the contents all over her. After managing to get a few sips in, enough to get the coughing to stop, but not enough to get the flesh to knit back together and prevent the flow of blood from coming. 

Fatigue and hunger once more reared up their ugly heads now that she was weakened, causing her to stumble and lose her balance as she tried to get up, shaking knees protesting at the effort. Yet, she refused to give in to their demands. Not now at least, when the injury had not yet been fully treated. She made her way to the crudely built annexes of the fort, hoping to find another vial with the healing concoction. After a few long, painful moments, she finally found one, though a much lesser version than she would have liked. Still, it was better than nothing. Like a thirsty hound, she gulped the potion down, taking no pause to breath in between swallows. After drinking it till the last drop, she finally let herself slump with her back against the drawer, giving her body the rest it so deserved. 

She stared at the closed, wooden gate of the fort, the crackling of flames and smell of burnt wood and flesh still floating in the air. Her mind was wondering to faraway places, helping her ignore the nausea taking over. Tears dripped down her cheeks, as memories she wished to forget so much flooded her mind. The sound of flesh being torn apart and bones getting crushed sneaking in her eras through trembling hands struggling to block them out but failing, the scent of blood and the way it slipped through the small space beneath the closet door, as if trying to find her, draw out her screams and give away her position. And the worst of it all, that sickening laughter at the end, the men patting each other on the back as they celebrated the slaughter of another vile witch. 

She was no Dragonborn, no brave warrior or mage. She was a mere child, trembling in a closet, praying that they wouldn't find her, that she wouldn't endure the same fate. She couldn't even scream, biting her lips hard enough to draw blood. She hated feeling like this, reliving that horrible day, throwing her weakness and pitiful state in her face each time. She struggled, fought to break away from the spell those memories cast upon her, clinging to every sense she could, from the pain in her stomach, to the aching in her still-sore throat. Anything was better than that nightmare, even death.

✠♦✠

When she made it out, she felt something cold linger down her cheeks. Tears. Again. Honestly, sometimes it surprised her how she still had some to shed. She looked up, the once blue sky now dark and filled with stars making her wonder when she fell asleep. She sighed. She told Alvor and the others she was going to get back before nightfall. Now there was no way that was going to happen. 

She got up and began looking for something to eat. The fire inside the fort hadn't subsided yet, but she wasn't going to put it out just yet, not when her stomach ached so much. Fortunately, she didn't have to look far, fresh game hanging on a hook in the annex next to where she stood, along with a bottle of wine. After she had her fill, she went and put out the fires with a low-level frost spell.

To say the place was ruined would be to do it a disservice. Everything was either turned to charcoal or melted, leaving a stinking mess behind. Good luck searching for the shards in that fiasco, still that was what she needed to do, so here it went. 

Fortunately, the second floor and the lower levels hadn't been affected by the fire, the items and furniture still in perfect condition. She found nothing in the chamber on the second floor, apart from a few books and bags of septims which she pocketed without a second thought. Next, she searched the lower level, after she took a few more interesting items such as ingredients and potions, where she found what she finally found what she was looking for, or...at least, it seemed like it. Deep within the bowels of the fort, locked behind bars, was a long tunnel, which must have served as a prison in the past, judging by the cells, and at the end of it were the shards of the razor, displayed on a pedestal and guarded by numerous traps. After rummaging through the cages for any other goods she could pocket, she averted her attention to the various machinations put in place. Trip wires, poisoned gates with spikes all over them, poisoned darts, yeah. Pretty much the usual thing. 

"Well, here goes nothing." she said and stepped back, reading an ice lance in her hand. 

She threw the projectile so that it would activate all them at once and watched as the spikes and everything else went up in chaos. The whole fiasco took about five minutes, a yawn escaping her lips as she waited for it to be safe to cross. After things had calmed down and it seemed like everything was over, she walked over to be pedestal and picked up the shards, unknowingly setting up another trap, a rain of spikes raining over her. She managed to get out before she would be completely covered in them, but nevertheless, poison still seeped through her armor and into her skin. She fell on the ground, scrambling for some garlic she got from upstairs, gulping it down as fast as she could before the poison took effect. 

Fortunately, though it didn't save her, it earned her enough time to drag herself back to the kitchen. She remembered seeing some charred Skeever hide, and she had some thistle branch on her as well. With the leftover garlic she could create a potion to help her ease the pain until the effects wore off. It wouldn't be much, but it was better than nothing.

Standing on her feet hurt and everything around her was spinning around. She could hardly focus to cast a simple fire spell for the water to boil, but stubbornness helped her overcome the pain and set the logs on fire. She winced and fought the urge to vomit as the concoction was sizzling. As she waited for it to be done, she grabbed a book from a nearby drawer, and began to read it, trying to keep her mind distracted from the ache in her entire body. Much to her chagrin, the one she picked was mostly gibberish of a mad man who wanted to summon Hermaeus Mora but being tricked by someone to conjure Sheogorath ins...wait...Sheogorath...the Prince of Madness...

"Oh, fuck."

What did Ornstein get himself into?

✠♦✠

It was happening all over again. A simple mission which turned to be fatal in the end. Memories began rushing upon him, the day he dreaded most repeating once more before his eyes. 

It was a normal day, the sun shining bright upon the skies bathing Anor Londo in its eternal, blessed glow. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to foretell the grievous tragedy about to occur. He sat at his desk, buried in documents, awaiting his friend's return along with another report for him to read and sign. It was the same boring, mind-numbing work he had been doing all the time, one he felt was going to be the death of him. 

When his office door opened, he was already expecting to be assaulted by a fluffy, overly friendly wolf who had no regard for other's boundaries. However, that attack never came, neither did her master's gleeful laughter and greetings. When he rose his head to look at his visitor, an ill feeling already nesting in the pit of his stomach. His gaze was met by a Silver Knight, gaze kept low, a torn piece of blue cloth tainted black, on the edges. Ornstein's breath stopped at the sight, the world spinning around him as the knight delivered him the news.

Artorias failed in his mission. The best knight in all of Lordran and his best friend in the entire world was no more. 

Ornstein closed his eyes, trying to shake the memory out of his head. He didn't want to believe that Gwen had met her end at the blade of some bandit or worse. He leaned against the wall of the town, staring in the distance, trying to calm down his nervousness. The night air was cold here, but it was nothing compared to the weather in Dawnstar. Seriously, why did the Nords live in that frozen hell when they had beautiful, warm places like this to settle in? 

Humans never ceased to surprise him. 

"Are you worried for Gwen?" 

He looked down, amazed to see Dorthe look up at him, head slightly tilted to the side. 

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked back. 

"It's not bedtime yet." she answered, taking a seat by his side. "And you didn't answer my question." she added, picking a pebble off the ground and joggling it around. 

He didn't reply right away, continuing to stare at the empty road, the howls of wolves echoing in the distance. 

"Yes. I am." he replied with a tired sight. 

"Why? She's strong. I'm sure she'll be fine... as long as she looks where she's going and doesn't walk off cliffs or into doors." Dorthe added, with a smirk.

The knight couldn't help but laugh at that, recalling the time Gwen walked face front into the gate of Markarth. She did claim she was famous for such stunts, but he didn't think she was serious. Turns out she was.

"I know she's strong. It's just that I..."

Artorias was strong as well, the strongest man he ever knew, and yet...he still failed. The man who had once been Lord Gwyn's greatest pride , a beacon of light against the dark, had become nothing but an empty, corrupted husk and everything his friend had to remember him was a piece of his torn cape, locked in a chest in his room. What used to be happy memories were overshadowed by grief and the painful realization his kind had always struggled to run away from. No one was invincible. Everyone could fall, even the bravest. 

"I just...I'm still worried." he said, hoping that the explanation would suffice. 

He was no stranger to the curiosity of children and the ends they would go to satisfy it. Instead, what he got left him speechless.

"I'm worried too, to be honest." Dorthe said, tossing the pebble aside, her gaze locked on the road as well. "I know she's strong, but she's a little dumb too." the little girl continued, her last comment drawing another chuckle from the knight. 

He felt guilty as soon as the giggle escaped his lips, doing his best to muffle the sound. 

"Gwen's not dumb." he replied, mouth still hidden behind his hand. "She's just carless." And that was a truth which, try as one might, could not be denied. 

"Did you ever forget to eat because you were careless?" the child asked, shifting her gaze from the road to him.

"I'm afraid I did." he said, recalling the times he had fainted from hunger on the way to his chambers after days being stuck in his office. Once he even fell down the stairs and ended up breaking his arm due to the dizziness which took over him. Needless to say, Lord Gwyn was less than pleased when he heard the news and forced him to take a few days off, not only for the injury to heal, but so that he could get his health back on track as well. 

The girl was about to say something else, only to be interrupted by a loud yawn, her eyelids closing only for her to open them again. 

"Come on." Ornstein said, scooping her up in his arms. "Let's get you to bed." 

He threw one last glance towards the road, a deep sigh leaving his chest. Once more, he prayed that she would come back the next day, safe and sound. He couldn't stand to lose another person dear to him. 

✠♦✠

This time, the gods seemed to have listened to him this one time, for around noon, as he was helping out Dorthe, mainly answering her questions about the armors present in his land, Gwen arrived in Riverwood, a big smile plastered on her face. The moment Ornstein saw her, he had to fight the urge to run and wrap his arms around her, a wave of relief washing over him if only for a second, before he took notice of her state. There were dark circles underneath her eyes, her warpaint missing once again, her silver hair adorned with fallen leaves and broken twigs. There were some stuck in the belts of her armor as well, dirt stains littering the clothes. Did she...did she fall on the way there or something? What happened? 

While she was talking with Alvor, Sigrid and Dorthe, he stood on the side, leaning against the wall of their house, trying to find any other signs of injury. Something didn't feel right, but he couldn't quite place it. At one point, her gaze met his, and she quickly looked away, that simple motion breaking something inside his chest. 

"Ok, everyone, let's go inside. It's time for lunch and by the looks of it, if we keep Gwen waiting any longer, she's going to eat all of us instead." Sigrid joked, a pale blush running across the Dragonborn's face.

They went inside the house and while the blacksmith's wife and daughter were setting the table, Gwen listened to Alvor gave her the good news about Ornstein's armor. Apparently, Ulfberth did have some gold to spare, same for the garnets. They were bound to arrive later that day, allowing him to get started tomorrow. When it came to payment, however. 

"You don't have to worry about it, Gwen. You've done so much for us, from saving my nephew to protecting our village from dragons. Ornstein had helped us a lot yesterday and today as well." Alvor assured them, but neither were willing to accept that answer.

"Still, there must be something I can do, Alvor. Name your price, and don't worry about it." Gwen assured him. 

That morning, she managed to get a good sum of septims from the loot she took from the Cracked Tusk Keep, thus payment wasn't a problem for her. 

"No way. Keep your septims, Gwen." the blacksmith denied her offer, shaking his head. "But if you insist on returning the favor, can I please ask something of you? It's nothing serious, nor important, don't worry. You can see to it whenever your duties allow you to."

"Of course! What it is?" the woman asked, eager to help her dear friend.

"If you happen to go to Solitude and see my nephew, please, tell him to come and visit us. I haven't heard of him in quite a while and I'm getting worried with all this news of patrols and such." Alvor explained, staring down at his clasped hands as he talked.

Silence settled inside the room, the thing that no one dared to mention, or even suggest screaming in their faces. Ornstein knew what it was, having confronted it so many times before, even that day, as he waited for Gwen to return, the fear and pain slowly eating away at one's insides. 

"Well, I do have to go Solitude, actually. Very soon too." the Dragonborn spoke, with a smile on her face. She threw a quick glance towards Ornstein, one he managed to catch in time, before she looked away again.

"That's good to hear." Sigrid said, placing a pot of hot stew on the table. "Now, let's stop talking and start digging. Ornstein, Dorthe, get your portions first. I predict there won't be anything left after Alvor and Gwen begin feasting." 

The knight and child tried not to bust out laughing, while the other two had their faces burning with shame. 

After lunch, Gwen asked Ornstein to accompany her, and led him outside the village. They stopped not far from the gate at the base of a great tree, the shadow cast by it, being like a blessing to the Nord. She sat down at its roots, leaning against the trunk with her back. She closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet, scented air, impregnated with the fragrance of the flowers around them. A bit reluctant, Ornstein took a seat beside her, his eyes lingering upon her face, the freckles which seemed to be more highlighted in the warm daylight sun. Once again, he felt relief settle in his chest seeing her there, by his side, safe and sound. 

"I found him." she spoke after a few minutes of silence, her eyes still closed.

"By him, you mean...?"

"The Daedra who brought you here." 

As of struck by lightning, he looked at her, mouth slightly ajar, eyes opened wide. Without saying a word, she opened her eyes and reached out to her pouch and pulled out a book, the word "Wabbajack" written in black shining strongly against the scarlet covers. After she handed it to him, she leaned back against the tree's trunk and closed her eyes once more. Ornstein didn't know what to make of the text. It looked more like the scribbles of a madman if anything. The more he read, the more his head hurt. However, there was something that caught his eye. 

"Sheogorath." he read the name aloud, a bad taste filling his mouth the moment it rolled off his tongue.

"Yep. He's the one." Gwen confirmed with a nod.

"And he's..." 

"The Prince of Madness." 

"And you're going to Solitude because..."

"I have reason to believe he is there." 

"I see." Ornstein closed the book, staring at the cover, brushing his finger against the title. 

So...they found him already...t-that...that was supposed to be a good thing...right? 

He looked at her again, her closed eyelids, the peaceful expression on her face, or was it tired? It looked more like that. 

"I'm sorry." he found himself saying, taking both of them by surprise.

For once, she opened her eyes as she looked at him, brows furrowed in confusion. 

"What for?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Everything. Lying. Never telling her the truth. Leading her on, despite knowing the truth. For leaving so soon. He didn't even know if apologizing was worth it at this point. What came out his mouth, however, surprised both of them, especially him.

"Because I will soon leave you alone."

He immediately averted his gaze from her, afraid of what he might see. Disappointment? Pain? Tears? He didn't know, neither did he wish to. Damn it! He was able to take on dragons ten times his size, yet here he was, afraid to face a mere woman. His friends, if any of them were watching from beyond the graves as humans often liked to think the departed did, must have been laughing in their graves at that point. He could already hear Ciaran's snide remarks. 

He was pulled from his thoughts when he felt something touch his shoulder, coldness seeping through the cloth of his shirt sending shivers down his spine. He had gotten used to the chill, thanks to Dawnstar, but now, as he stood there, waiting for her to say something, he couldn't help but feel the frost so much stronger than before. It was seeping not only through his clothes, but through his flesh and bones, nesting into his very soul. 

Gwen kept silent. What was there to say anyway? Her mind was a mess, a part of her trying to deflect all blame upon him, while the other was yelling at her, at her own cowardice to accept her own fault, her own weakness. She didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to risk driving the wedge between them any deeper. A conversation needed to be had, but she didn't know how to do it without bringing everything else up, the tragedy which to this day still marked her deeply, like a bird in a cage. Thus, she stood there, with her hand upon his shoulder, both of them in complete silence, staring at the river running by.

There were many things to say, things that both of them wanted to share, but fear of getting hurt, of hurting the other was keeping their lips shut. Soon, they will part ways. Soon, they will never see each other again. If only they knew...that they both wished they could have had more time.


	15. Mehrunes’ Razor. Part 8

The week passed by quickly, too quickly for anyone's liking. Dorthe took advantage of having someone to teach her how to yield a sword to the fullest, and though Ornstein showed her only the basics, she was more than overjoyed, swinging the small blade her father made for her with the widest smile a child could have. Gwen spent her days helping out Sigrid or going in the forest to gather ingredients for potions which she would later sell to the local pawn shop. She tried her best to avoid going at the tavern both because she did not want to see Delphine and in fear of running into the stranger from before.

Days passed by in relative quiet on the surface, but tension brewed underneath. As soon as the Dragonborn acquired the shards of the blade, she complained of whispers haunting her dreams, voices in languages she couldn't fully understand taunting her. She shared none of this with the knight, but somehow, he figured out something wasn't right with her. He hadn't asked what it was, respecting her choice to keep their distance, even if the silence killed him. He tried to distract himself by helping Dorthe and Alvor wherever he could, but the concern still nagged at him., chastising him for his inability to help. 

The next day after his armor had been fixed, they went to Whiterun to look for a carriage that could take them to Dawnstar.

"Have a safe trip and make sure to take care of yourselves." Alvor, who had accompanied them, wished them before they went away.

"Thank you, Alvor. And don't worry about Hadvar. He's a strong man. I'm sure he's alright." Gwen said, patting the blacksmith on the shoulder as she encouraged him. 

He said nothing at first, a smile gracing his features. 

"I know, Gwen. Thank you very much." 

Ornstein watched the scene unfold, thinking how much he was going to miss these humans once he returned back to Lordran. The idea of striking a deal with Sheogorath had passed his mind, but he rejected it with all his being the moment he realized what he was thinking about. The Daedra were liars and deceivers. There was no way he could trust the word of one of those snakes, especially the word of the one known as the Prince of Madness. Thus, he was left with no option but to accept that this was the end. Soon, he'll leave Skyrim for good and he will never see any of them ever again...especially...Gwen.

_"Idiot. You got attached."_

✠♦✠

The road had been long and silent, save for the coachman's songs and humming. Gwen was tending to the potions and ingredients she had gathered, while Ornstein read once again the book about the Wabbajack, glad to feel once more the familiar weight of his armor around him. He didn't wear his helmet, enjoying the feeling of the warm sunlight against his skin. He got tired after a while, the more he read, the more he grew annoyed at the Daedric Prince. He felt a headache coming through as he shut the book and set it aside. He looked up at the sky, puffy clouds adorning the pale blue, a warm breeze brushing his skin in its passing. On one hand, he was happy to be returning to Dawnstar. On the other one though, the thought of the winter prevailing in the hold of The Pale did not thrill him one bit. Once again, why did the Nords chose to live there when they had beautiful, warm places like the Reach and Whiterun holds? 

His gaze fell upon Gwen, his eyes lingering on the small bouquets of mountain flowers, lavender, snowberries, cotton and many other plants sprawled around her, their sweet scent filling the air around her. The woman smiled as her fingers touched the soft petals, plucking away those which bore the stains of disease, placing them in a pile at her feet. Next to her were glass vials, some containing the remaining potions, others empty, with cracks littering the walls. Red, green, and blue liquids having lost their initial glow from when they were still fresh.

At one point, a frown appeared on the Dragonborn's brown. She was holding a withered Dragon's Tongue flower, the once golden petals now nothing more than a sick, muddy brown. She took one of the healing potions, her attention still focused upon the dead plant in her other hand. As she was removing the lid from the vial with her thumb, the carriage passed over a bump, causing it to shake which in turn startled the Nord. She let go of the flask and it would had spilled all over the floor should Ornstein not have caught it in time. 

"Here you go." he said, handing it to her.

"Thank you." she whispered, avoiding looking at him. 

He tried not to ponder on the feeling that mere act brought upon him. He yearned to have her talk with him just like before, the silence dominating in between them, making him uncomfortable. It wasn't right. He didn't want their last days together to be like this. Yet, as much as he wanted to start a conversation, the words were stuck in his throat. Instead, he continued to look at her, watch as she placed the withered flower in the flask as if it were a vase. Slowly, the blossom came back to life, the petals regaining their once vibrant color, only for it to wither away once more, this time much worse than before. 

"Hm. Too much stimuli I suppose." Gwen said to herself, tossing the dead plant on the side of the carriage. 

"What do you mean?" Ornstein asked, watching the flask in her hand.

"Dragon's Tongue's pollen and stem contains a natural fortifying agent. I think the ingredients in the potion reacted to it and overstimulated them and caused the flower to completely die." she explained.

"Ah. Makes sense." he replied, but in truth, he hardly understood a thing. 

This was a conversation better suited to have with Seath, or Artorias, both of them much well versed in plants and their properties than him. He only knew how to tell if a flower or fungi was poisonous or not, thanks to Ciaran. Still, Gwen talked to him. That was an improvement. 

The sky was getting darker, the air colder, small snowflakes beginning to fall down from the grey clouds hanging above. Ornstein began to shiver, the armor not enough to keep him warm. He threw a glance at the coachman and the Dragonborn, neither showing any signs of being bothered by the drop in temperature, making him feel completely out of place.

"Here." he heard Gwen speak and when he looked at her, she saw her hand him a blanket. "I thought you might be cold, so I made sure to pack something to help you." she explained, seeing the surprised expression on his face.

"T-Thank you." he said, taking the blanket. 

He wrapped it around his shoulders, a relieved sigh escaping his lips as he did so.

"Were you that cold?" the Dragonborn asked, tilting her head to the side. 

"Hm? Oh no....ok, maybe a bit. I'm more relieved." he answered, realizing too late what he had said. " _Idiot! I'm such a damn moron!_ "

"Relieved? Why?" she continued to ask, her brows furrowed in confusion.

" _What the hell! I dug the hole already, might as well jump in it._ " he though, taking a deep breath before replying.

"Because we are talking again." he answered, looking down at the carriage floor, his face burning with embarrassment. Where were those damn dragons when he needed them?!

"Oh...I see." he heard her say, the note of sadness in her voice prompting him to look up at her. 

She was staring at the lands already covered in snow, melted snowflakes sparkling in her silver hair like small diamond beads. Her gaze held a certain sadness within, the corners of her mouth slightly pointed downward. Guilt tugged at the string of his heart. He had no intention to make her sad, yet it seemed that was about the only thing he could do. 

"I'm sorry. I...I didn't mean to be this cruel to you." she said after a long silence which felt too long. 

"It's not your fault. I should have told you the truth from the start. It's just that...I didn't know how to." Ornstein quickly assured her. As the last statement left his lips, he realized that even now, he hadn't told her about where he was actually from and still, he didn't know how to explain that he was from a completely different world. One so alien to this one.

"That's ok... I mean, I should have expected it, you know. Whenever a Daedra is involved," she inhaled deeply, a lone tear running down her cheek, "whenever a Daedra is involved, things can only be complicated."

Would Miraak have joined her willingly should he not have been so desperate to escape Hermaeus Mora's gasp? Would he have listened to her and her offer to help him in exchange for releasing his control over the island? Did Septimus really have to die? Serana and her family were ruined because of the pact they made with Molag Bal. Sinding was still living in the Bloated Man's Grotto, away from all civilization, afraid of the beast inside. Gwen tried to visit him, but she was always met with silence and pleas to stay away as to not get hurt. Barbas kept his promise of watching over Clavicus Vile, preventing him from making any more of his "deals" with foolish mortals, unaware of what his true colors truly were, but he could only do so much, and she was a mere mortal. And Erandur...poor Erandur. He suffered so much, burdened by so much grief and regret, yet he was still so kind.

Ornstein felt anger suffocate him. What were the gods of this world doing? Why did they allow such creatures to exist, to wreak havoc upon the world? Lord Gwyn, though not overly fond of humans, still protected them from harm, ordering his knights to go and deal with whatever threat that had befallen them. Even after Anor Londo had fallen from its glory, Lord Gwyndolin still never forwent his duty to listen to the pleas and prayers of mortals, providing them aid and hunting sinners. Everyone fulfilled their duties, even as the world around them was crumbling to pieces as the First Flame faded. What was the excuse of the gods here? Those wyverns posing as dragons? 

"Anyway, that doesn't excuse my behavior." Gwen spoke, snapping him out of his thoughts. "I'm truly sorry for making you..."

"It's not you who should apologize!" the knight snapped at her, startling the poor woman. "It's me. I'm the one who messed up. If anything, you've been nothing but kind to me, while I only hurt you. Even now..." he lowered his gaze, fists clenched so hard nails dug into the skin and flesh, drawing blood. 

"You took a fireball head on for me." she whispered, loud enough for him to hear. "When I made a fool of myself in Markarth, you made me feel better. You were willing to fight a dragon while I run away." she continued, her voice losing the gloom it had before, "You helped me a lot, more than you even realize. Please, don't be so hard on yourself." 

She reached out a hand and lifted his head, so their eyes met, the smile on her face making a strange warmth spread through his chest. Absent mindedly, he grabbed her hand and brought it to his cheek, pressing it against his skin, passing his thumb across the back of it. The cold didn't bother him, for once.

"I'm going to miss you." and it was true.

He was going to miss everyone, Erandur, Alvor, Leah, Helgi, Dorthe, and the others. After centuries of silence, with only the illusion of a princess who long abandoned her kingdom and someone whose presence he found less than delightful, his time in Skyrim was like a breath of fresh air. Yet, despite caring for them all, he knew he was going to miss her the most. 

"I'm going to miss you too." and it was true.

Serana, Lydia, Leah, and the others. She cared deeply for them all, each and every one holding a special place in her heart, and so did he. He made her laugh, listened to her ramblings, and almost died in order to protect her. He helped her forget her loneliness after Serana left. She didn't want them to part, but keeping him here, away from his family was too selfish. Thus, she decided to do her best and make the reminder of his stay as pleasant as possible. 

✠♦✠

The Morskom Estate was cold, unnaturally so, the moonlight coming in through uncovered windows, the deafening silence which dominated those halls, making the place feel almost abandoned, despite the two people wrapped in blankets in front of the scarlet flames dancing in the fireplace. It had been late when they arrived at Dawnstar, much too late to go pay Silus a visit. After eating at the tavern, they returned home where they were welcomed by a dark, cold silence. That led them to their current situation, sitting on the floor in front of the hearth, blankets draped upon their shoulders, waiting for the house to warm up so they could sleep without shivering through the entire night. As they waited, they began sharing tales that before, neither were willing to, afraid of getting too close. They had no fear of that now and spoke honestly of one another. Some things, they still held within themselves, secrets, memories, things which were too painful to be brought to light, not worthy of an evening which could as well be their last. 

He told her of Lord Gwyn and the other Lords, the Witch of Izalith, Nito, the First of the Dead, and the Furtive Pygmy, of the Dragon War and of the beginning of the Age of Fire. Gwen listened in awe as he shared with her those stories, holding her breath when he spoke of battles, laughing along with him when he told her of his days as a Silver Knight, when he learned to use the miracle of lightning for the first time and accidentally set off and entire batch of gunpowder barrels. Oh! He got in so much trouble for that. Or that time he broke his arm after he had a arm-wrestling match with Ledo. Back then, the knight's monstrous strength wasn't very well known, and Ornstein had grown tired of listening to him boast about it from sunrise to sundown. And to make things worse, Ledo also snored like a hurricane during the night. To this day, Ornstein had no idea who decided it would be good to make the two share a tent. That arrangement had cost him countless nights of sleep, and most likely set the start of his sleeping disorder. He challenged him to a match, believing it to be an easy win and hoping that it would get Ledo to finally shut up. Needless to say, he was proven wrong so now he was sleep deprived and had a broken arm. 

"Did you ever get him back for it?" she asked, throwing another log on the fire.

"No. We actually ended up becoming friends, well, not friends, but we did get end up getting along much better after we met a certain person." Ornstein replied, diving into a story dear to his heart.

✠♦✠

Giants were not well-liked. Perhaps it was their appearance, huge and intimidating, or their strength, as they were able to move huge blocks of rocks with ease. Whatever the reason, many questioned Lord Gwyn's decision to knight one, and put him in charge of the archers. Ornstein couldn't quite pronounce himself on the matter. He decided the best course of action would be to meet this giant himself, his own curiosity playing a part in it. Thus, one day, after training was done, he went to look for the creature, which didn't take long. 

Gough, as the giant was named, was leaning against a wall, sitting cross legged on the floor, staring at the few archers still training despite the late hours. Much to Ornstein's surprise, he was already talking to someone, more specifically, to Ledo. The two seemed to have a good conversation, judging by the fits of laughter that echoed from both of them. For a minute, the knight considered turning back and return another day. Things were still somewhat bitter between him and Ledo ever since the arm-wrestling incident and the two tried their best not to spend more time around each other than needed. Just as he was making up his mind, he heard the giant talk to him.

"Hm? May I help you?" Gough asked, turning to look at the Silver Knight.

He had a surprisingly smooth voice.

"Good evening, sir. Ledo." Ornstein said, bowing his head to both of them. "My apologies, I did not mean to interrupt your conversation." he apologized, feeling his tentmate's stare on him. 

"It does no harm." Gough replied with a wave of his hand and the knight noticed what looked like blue and yellow stains on his fingers. "I suppose this interruption actually does us good." the giant continued, looking at the darkening skies. "I haven't even realized how late it is. Forgive me for keeping you here for so long, sir Ledo."

"There's nothing to apologize for, Sir Gough. I'd rather have your company over the one of a certain someone." Ledo replied, his eyes though hidden by the shadows of the helmet, locked upon his fellow knight. 

Ornstein pondered for a minute if that jab was worth replying to with words or actions. But then again, his arm had just healed, and he wasn't keen on having another limb broken. 

"You surely jest, sir Ledo." Gough replied, unaware of the bitterness between the two. "But I'm glad my company is not a bore. I know watching a giant paint is not the most exiting of activities." 

"Nonsense. Your talent deserves all the appreciation, my friend." Ledo argued, letting out a hefty laughter. 

Ornstein stared at him, grateful that the headpiece hid his bewildered expression. Hearing this knight who never shup up about his own strength and abilities, praise another was like a surprise cold shower. Did he hit his head or something? 

"Thank you very much, sir Ledo. You are too kind." Gough spoke.

" _Ledo and kindness...did I hit my head on the way here?_ " Ornstein thought, looking at the two of them. He had to admit though, that seeing this side of his tentmate wasn't so bad. He was a true believer in the idea of teamwork and made a point of getting to know his comrades, of making good relationships with them and helping them whenever and however he could. He took the initiative whenever it was necessary and sought the best for everyone, not only himself. As a result, the other knights respected him and cane to consider him reliable, almost a leader, which he couldn't deny, did inflate his ego.

Ledo was a completely different story, however. His boasting and snoring aside, he was stubborn as well and hardly accepted any help. He relied a lot on himself and allowed very few to get close to him. The other knights kept their distance from him, but it didn't seem to bother him. Ledo was content with the way things were apparently, but seeing him now, Ornstein couldn't help but think that perhaps, things weren't truly as they seemed.

The three of them talked a bit more after that, commenting about the war, the state of the new recruits, and other matters. Ornstein found the giant to be very pleasant to converse with, a man of few words and great wisdom. He even gave him advice of how to use the lightning spear, especially on how to aim, and for that the knight was eternally grateful. Even Ledo exchanged a few more words with him, and for once they were both relaxed around each other. They even talked on the way back to the tents. Even if it wasn't something important, mere empty chatter, it was still a step towards the right direction.

It became a habit of sorts, that after they was done with their duties, Ornstein and Ledo would go and visit Sir Gough, spending what little free time they had left talking and sharing their opinions on the ongoing events. There were rumors of an approaching battle and everyone was eager, confused and some were scared. They knew what awaited them, they knew not all would return and even if they did, there was little chance they would not come back the same.

"You are going to be on the front lines." Gough said at one point, looking at Ornstein.

The knight's aim had gotten much, much better, and thus, he was placed on the front lines, same as Lord Gwyn. 

"Yes." Ornstein nodded, clutching the silver spear tighter. 

He was both nervous and excited. Would he rise up to the task? Would he be of use to the best of his abilities? He tried not to think about it, but those thoughts and doubts had a way of creeping into his head and making it hard for him to focus.

"I'm glad. You're a fine knight. I can think of none other more fit for the job." the giant said as if reading his thoughts. 

"Not to mention," Ledo began, arms crossed and voice stern, "if you mess up, I will break both your arms and make sure you'll never get a good night's sleep." he ended, placing a hand on his fellow knight's shoulder, the grip strong enough to make his knees almost buckle under it.

Ornstein looked at him, eyes opened wide and jaw dropped. Did he really hear that or where his ears deceiving him? When did Ledo ever let him sleep?!

However, that threat, ridiculous as it was, did have its intended effects.

The battle came and just as expected, there were losses, a lot of them, but Lord Gwyn and his knights came victorious in the end. Ornstein did his best, almost losing his life after defending his lord against a stray fire projectile from one of the dragons. He was brought to the camp, fading in and out of consciousness, too tired to even scream from the crushing pain he was in. His deed did not go unnoticed though. Ever since, Lord Gwyn had taken great interest in him, and followed his progress during the war and when the time came, he appointed him the Captain of the Silver Knights. 

"See, if I hadn't threatened you back then, you probably wouldn't be here today." Ledo teased him once, as they ran into each other one day, after months of not seeing one another.

They had never managed to become friends, but Ledo was no longer the lone wolf he had once been. He was now good friends with Bishop Havel, the giants in the city and many others. 

"And I would thank you, if I wouldn't have to deal with all the trouble you're causing!" Ornstein retorted, thinking about all the reports sitting on his desk, more than half of them related to some problems the knight had caused. He almost rivaled Artorias when it came to being troublesome, though for completely different reasons.

"Not my fault the others are a bunch of weaklings." Ledo replied with a shrug. "I have to go now. Send my regards to Sir Gough. See you later." he said, walking ahead, only to disappear as soon as he turned around the corner, as if he hadn't even been there.

✠♦✠

"That was the last I've seen of him." Ornstein said, staring at the flames. 

Ledo was sent to the Ringed City along with Princess Filianore and Midir, the only dragon allowed to live in the castle. Ever since, Ornstein hadn't heard a word about him, and his duties prevented him from trying to find out more. 

"I'm...sorry about that." Gwen said, reaching out to grab his hand. 

"It's alright." he assured her but accepted her attempt at comfort anyway. "It's in the past anyway." he added, lightly squeezing her fingers. "So, tomorrow we'll go and see Silus." 

A minute of silence passed in between them, one that carried all the things that he couldn't bear to say.

"Yes." came her reply in the end, and he felt her pull her hand away. He let go, though deep inside, he didn't want to. Was this a simple attachment? He didn't know anymore. "And after that, we'll go to Solitude to confront Sheogorath." 

"How do you know he's in Solitude?" 

"I met one of his disciples there. He was rambling something about his master being on vacation in the Blue Palace." she replied, throwing another log on the fire. 

"Aha. And are you sure that man can be trusted? No offense, but given how he's the Prince of Madness, I would take anything anyone related to him said with a grain of salt." Ornstein explained. He hardly trusted the words of humans; his position having forced him to double check everything. He had even less faith in anything leaving the mouth of a madman.

"This will come as a surprise, but when it comes to the Daedra, I found that the crazy ones are the most trustworthy. Still don't understand why." she said, shrugging, her gaze locked upon the scarlet flames.

The knight pondered her words for a minute, a frown forming on his face. The more he found out about them, the more he found them to be annoying and completely detestable. And tomorrow they were going to be facing one such creature. He threw a quick glance at Gwen. She had faced them before and had more experience than him, but he couldn't help but be concerned. 

As if reading his thoughts, Gwen smiled as she turned to look at him.

"Don't worry. Dagon may be strong, but I'm sure we can overcome whatever he has in store for us. And who knows, we might not even have to deal with him. And who knows? Perhaps, we won't have to face him at all. Perhaps Silus has come to his senses in the time we were gone."

"Do you really think him to be so wise?" Ornstein asked, trying not to sigh. He couldn't bring himself to believe things to be so simple. 

"I don't. But I need to have faith in humans." she replied, stretching out her arms which had begun to grow numb. 

Yes. She needed to believe that, for the sake of her mission, for the sake of her own sanity. She had to trust them, because if she didn't, she would fall prey to her own demons. She didn't like it, but what else could she do? Nothing. Nothing but hope that this will not lead to her demise.

Many had resisted the Daedra's temptations before and escaping their clutches even when they were close to the finish line. Why couldn't Silus do the same thing? She wanted to believe he could, that there was still honor left in him. 

Ornstein tried to muffle another sigh. He found Gwen's optimism and kindness endearing, reminding him of Artorias, but he knew and feared what it could do to her, should she ever place her trust in the wrong person. Still, this was her home, and she knew the people here much better than he did. He may not be able to place his faith in them, but if anything, he could believe in her. If she trusted Silus, then he will trust her and her judgement and if she happened to be wrong, he would do his best to protect her from whatever was thrown their way.

There was nothing else. 

"Fine. If you say so." he said, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But if you're wrong and something happens, I'll throw Silus in the sea. Or beat up Dagon... I lean more towards the later." 

"It will be fine. You'll see." Gwen assured him. "Besides how are you going to beat up a Daedra?"

"Where there is a will, there is a way." was all he said, but it was enough to send shivers down her spine. 

✠♦✠

"I know how to put all the pieces together. We just need to take them to Dagon's shrine and contact the Lord of Change directly _._ " 

Silus' words fell flat in the quiet room. Ornstein stared at Gwen from the corner of his eye, the Nord's bewildered expression almost making him laugh. While Silus paid them no mind, lost in a long speech about the razor and his destiny, the knight leaned closer to the Dragonborn's ear. 

"So...remember what I said last night?" he whispered, trying not to chuckle.

"M-maybe we can sway him...make him change his mind." she muttered, but as soon as she finished the sentence, Silus spoke again.

"Dagon has to answer our call. We're so close. I'll meet you at the shrine. Make sure not to be late." 

Before any of them could say anything, the man was out the door, leaving the two alone, the Nord holding her head in her hands and the knight staring at her, lips pursed in an attempt to stifle his laughter.

"So," he began, voice dripping with amusement, "shall we go, my lady?"

Gwen removed her hands from her face but refused to lift her head to look at him, keeping her gaze locked on her feet as she stomped out towards the door and out into the cold air, followed closely by Ornstein. Silus was not far ahead of them, allowing them to easily follow him to the Shrine. The roads were mostly empty, apart from a few wolves and frostbite spiders which the trio easily disposed of. Gwen's spells were still as powerful as always, but her aim was lacking, having missed her target more than once. 

"Are you worried about Silus?" Ornstein asked, cleaning the blood off his blade on the white snow.

She didn't answer, continuing to stare at the grovel beneath her feet, kicking up snow now and then, arms crossed across her chest. He sighed. 

"If it will make you feel better, I won't lay a hand on him, but you must promise me that you'll pay more attention to the fights." he said, walking over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder.

Finally, she looked up at him and he saw the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. 

"I'm sorry." she whispered, lowering her gaze once more.

"Sorry for what?" he asked, confused.

"For Silus. For dragging you into this mess." she replied, guilt gnawing at her. 

Ornstein was strong, but the Divines knew what awaited them at that shrine. What if things were too much for them to handle? What if they didn't make it? She insisted that morning, she could go alone, but of course, he refused, claiming that he wanted to be there in case things went wrong, and of course, they did. As much as she respected his desire to protect others, she was afraid of what it could do to him and wished him to think more of himself. She still recalled the fear and grief from the time he almost died defending her against Drascua. Now, as the possibility of him getting wounded again because of her stared her in the face, all she wanted to do was scream and punch something. Forget about him being the one kicking Silus' butt. Were she not afraid of the repercussion of her actions, she would be pummeling him to the ground herself. She let her arms fall to her sides, hands clenched into fists, both aching to hit something.

"It's not your fault." Ornstein said, patting her shoulder as gently as he could. "There was no way you could have known what would have happened." 

"Still- " she tried to argue, but a shout from Silus cut her off.

"Come now you two! We must not keep Dagon waiting!"

By the Divine! She wanted to kick him so bad!

"You heard him. Let's go." Ornstein said, gently nudging her to follow.

She began to walk, trying her best not to grumble and send a fireball the cultist's way. The rest of the road was long and quiet, no more predators coming their way. As they climbed the mountain on the way to the shrine, Gwen lost herself in memories, in an attempt to distract herself from the doubts and insecurities constantly trying to nag at her. She climbed those stairs before, curious to know what was at the top. She had no idea of the journey that curiosity would send her to on that day, the fallen torch still burning in front of the cavern's entrance still there even now as she passed by it once more, but now the flame was gone and there was nothing inside worth exploring anymore. At least the blood was gone. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Ornstein raise an eyebrow at its sigh, his mouth opening as to say something, only for him to decide against it and close it.

"That cave leads to an underground ancient tomb." she found herself saying, taking both of them by surprise.

"You've been there before?" he asked in return.

"Yes. I saw the torch, it was still burning at that time, and thought someone might be in need of help." 

The headquarters of the Vigilants of Stendarr, she forgot its name, was not far from there, black smoke still rising from the burning building. The screams had stopped at least. She didn't dare go near it, couldn't bear see what them even on their deathbed. 

"I went in and as my luck had it, I ran straight into a group of vampire scouts." she said, smiling now, but at that time, all she wanted to do was run away as far as she could.

"Vampires?" Ornstein asked.

"Oh? You don't see know of them?" she asked. He shook his head, prompting her to explain. "They are... a sort of undead, to put it simply. " she continued, trying to find the best words to describe them. "They were created by Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince of Destruction and Enslavement. The tale of their origin is...not pleasant." 

"I see." What else could he expect from the Daedra? 

"Yes. They feed on the blood of mortals in order to live and maintain their sanity." she explained further but regretted the statement as soon as it left her lips.

"And be careful not to get scratched or bitten if you ever happen to run into one. I've heard that just one scratch is enough to turn you into one." Silus chimed in. He had spoken so little, the duo almost forgot he was there.

"So...it's like a disease?" Ornstein asked.

"Sort of." Gwen confirmed. "We call it Sanguinare Vampiris. It's treatable, but you must do so in less than three days. That's how long it takes the transformation to complete." 

"Still, it's better to avoid it. Fortunately, the Vigilants of Stendarr are hunting them down along with a new group named the Dawnguard. Hopefully, we'll soon be rid of them for good." Silus added. 

Ornstein was about to say something when he noticed the Dragonborn's body become stiff, all the calm from before gone. For a second, he had the impression that he was looking at a young, scared little girl, not the string, kind-hearted woman he knew. He tried to ask her what was wrong, when the air was pierced by a loud, beastly scream. Everyone looked up to see a frost troll waiting for them at the top of the stairs, large, clawed hands covered in fur beating against its chest as it continued to roar.

"Try not to get covered in troll blood this time." Ornstein told Gwen, smiling at the exasperated expression of the Nord. 

"Will you ever let me live it down?" she asked, throwing a firebomb towards the creature. 

"Nope." came his reply without even thinking about it. How could he after all? Her reactions were too funny.

Taking advantage of the creature's distraction, and ignoring the foul scent rising from the burning fur, he got behind it and passed the blade through the beast's back, the smell of blood hitting him in the face and making him gag. What was wrong with this creature to stink so bad? Thankfully, that was enough to put it down, the large body falling to the ground with a loud thud.

Fortunately, they wouldn't have to worry with any more hindrances as much to Gwen and Ornstein's surprise, they had reached Dagon's Shrine. The temple was built upon a small mountain top, the statue of the Daedric Prince towering above the entrance making all who stood at the sacrificial altar below feel as if the demon himself was watching them. Nobody was there, as expected. The worship of Daedras was frowned upon after all. Silus opening a museum about a cult which did just that was a great risk. 

After all the pieces of the razor had been placed on the altar, the Imperial tried to summon Dagon, hands raised, head held low in reverence. The other two were watching him, disappointed that they could not convince him to give up. The Dragonborn tried to reason with him, but her words fell on deaf ears. He wouldn't budge, convinced that by doing this, his family's honor would be restored, and nothing could make him see otherwise. Thus, Gwen and Ornstein could do nothing but look at him and prey for the best. After half an hour of unanswered prayers, they began to relax as the Imperial only seemed to grow more agitated. 

"Why don't you give it a try?" Silus asked, turning towards Gwen. "Just place your hands on the altar."

By the Divine, this guy didn't know when to give up.

"Um...I don't think this is a good idea." she argued, hands up in front of her. "I-I mean..." 

"Nonsense. Besides, there's no loss in trying." he replied as he almost dragged her towards the altar.

"I'll do it." Ornstein spoke, walking over to the stone table with carvings on the sides.

The Nord and Imperial watched him surprised, a bad feeling brewing inside the woman's chest.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked, walking over to him. "Dagon is not as bad as the others of his kin, that is be true, but he is not to be underestimated." 

"Don't worry. Whatever he comes up with I'll best it." he assured her, placing a hand on the altar as he spoke.

Barely had the words left his mouth, when a voice began to echo all around them, startling the woman. Out of instinct, Ornstein pulled her behind him, sword out, standing between her and the statue of the Daedric Prince.

" **YOU MORTALS! YOU TWO ARE WORTHY OF SPEAKING TO!** " Mehrunes' words boomed all around them. " **YOU'VE GATHERED THE PIECES OF MY RAZOR. IT WAS AN AMUSING GAME TO WATCH. BUT DAGON DOES NOT DECLARE A WINNER WHILE THERE ARE STILL PAWNS ON THE TABLE. FIGHT! AND THE LAST ONE STANDING SHALL BE MY CHAMPION!** "

Ornstein felt Gwen's fingers dig into his gauntlet arm, his own blood boiling with fury. Silus was trembling in a corner, reality slowly creeping up on him, but obviously, he couldn't accept it. 

"B-But master Dagon," he tried to plead, gathering all the courage left in his body, "m-my family has..."

" **SERVED ITS PURPOSE! I NO LONGER HAVE ANY NEED FOR YOU! NOW FIGHT! OR FACE MY WRATH!** " 

"Well, what are you waiting for? Bring it!" Ornstein taunted the Daedra, feeling Gwen's flabbergasted gaze on him.

" **YOU FOOL!** " was the last thing they heard, before two clouds of smoke erupted on each side of the door, two knights cladded in dark and red armor with a strange design emerging from them. Both were demons, and carried large swords, inhuman cries coming out of their mouths. 

Ornstein and Gwen rushed to fight them, the Nord casting her ice spears as usual, while he followed each one of her attacks with a strong slash of his weapon. Silus tried to help, conjuring familiars and Fire Atronachs, but his magic stood no chance against the two demons. After half an hour of fighting, the trio bested Dagon's servants, and no injuries had been suffered on their part. The razor still lied on the altar, broken and devoid of any power. The Daedric Prince spoke no more, his presence nowhere to be felt.

Silus stared at the pieces, his face devoid of emotions. All his hopes and dreams...gone, shattered, just like that. He had longed for his family's honor to be restored for so long, ever since he was a child. Here he was now, at the altar of Dagon, with everything he had ever wanted crushed at his feet. His entire life... it was all a lie. 

"Silus, will you be alright?" the Dragonborn asked him, approaching him shyly.

"I...I think I will." he answered with a nod. "Excuse me...I... I need some time." he said, turning his back and walking away from the place. 

Gwen couldn't blame him. She watched him go, feeling bad that she couldn't help him. 

"Give him some time." Ornstein said from behind her. Though not fond of him, the knight couldn't guilt the man for what he had done, and he could understand what he was going through at that moment. "He needs to process this on his own and come up with his own answer." he said, but whether or not that statement was for Silus or for his past self, he didn't know.

Gwen remained silent, taking a deep breath as she looked at the stone altar. The temptation to crush it was growing within her, but she knew better than that. Instead, she walked over to the edge of the cliff and sat down, her legs dangling freely over the chasm below, looking at the valley unfolding before them, snowflakes beginning to fall from the grey clouds. Ornstein went and sat beside her, admiring the beauty of Skyrim. He found himself wishing he had a little more time, to see the other beauties this alien land had to offer. 

"Is he going to cause you trouble?" he asked, trying to distract his himself from those thoughts.

He pointed towards the statue of the Daedric Prince, seeing the woman's confused look. 

"We did mess up his plans after all." he added, thinking about the consequences this could have upon her.

"Oh! You don't have to worry about him. With the war and dragon menace going on, I believe he has more things to worry about other than me." she said, waving her hand as to dismiss his worries. 

Ornstein accepted that answer, though he had his reservations. 

They stood there for at least one more hour before returning to Dawnstar, where they spend the rest of the day in Erandur and the other's company at the tavern, the knight's way of saying goodbye. Rustleif and Serene admired his armor, Ornstein had forgotten that they hadn't seen him wearing it up to that point, commenting on the fine work and expensive materials. They talked a lot, drinking and eating, listening to the bard's song, having a great time. They hadn't seen Silus for the rest of the day, and while Gwen was a bit sad about it, she understood that it was for the best. He needed space as Ornstein had said. Perhaps after some more time had passed, she will go and try to help him, befriend him, slowly rebuild his reputation in Dawnstar. 

However, now she had other matters to think about. One Daedra Prince was done with, and now they hate to face another and this one was the incarnation of madness itself.

This...was not going to be pretty.


	16. Unfortunate news, rash decisions

"Dang it. Another thorn." Gwen groaned, watching a scarlet bead appear from the cut on her finger. 

She had been up all night, unable to sleep, tending to the plants in the basement. It's been a long time since they had been cared for, withered and stained petals lying in the soil to rot, new blossoms having sprouted at the roots of others. Some had grown thorns, which had to be removed. Easier said than done. 

She sucked the blood from the cut, passing her gaze once more over the bushes of canis root and then at the pile of rubbish lying at her feet. She felt bad at having to pull out the new flowers, but she had no time nor room to plant any more of them. She crouched down and ran her fingers through it, careful to avoid the sharp edges of the thorns peeking through. It was strange how even rotten as they were, the plants still retained their softness, and their pleasing scents. Yet, she knew that it wouldn't last.

As she played with the rubbish pile, her thoughts flew to later the day, when she and Ornstein would go to Solitude to look for Sheogorath. She had a good idea of where he could be, but she wasn't completely sure. Sadness took hold of her heart at the idea of departure, despite all her efforts to keep herself calm. She considered crying now as to not ruin the actual moment, let it all out now, but knowing herself, she knew that she wouldn't be able to contain her wails to a low volume and the basement was not exactly soundproof.

"Did you sleep at all?" came a voice from behind her, startling her. 

She jerked up with a yelp, tripping on her feet and almost falling on her back, were it not for Ornstein to catch her. 

"I'll take that as a no." he replied, looking down at her. 

He was cladded in armor, except for his helmet, crimson hair falling upon his shoulders, perfectly framing his smile.

"Don't worry about it." she said, getting on her feet. "I'm far more used to it than you think. And besides, you said you have a sleeping disorder yourself." 

"And I dreamed of pummeling Ledo to death for it all the time. Not as much after I met Gough, I must admit, but I still wanted to do it." he replied, looking at the multitude of flowers filling the dark room and halls. 

Balls of light hovered in the air, spreading blue rays through the entire space, purple, red and yellow petals gleaming dimly as the light bounced off them and onto the dark walls. Moss hanged down from the ceiling, making it look like green curtains, mushrooms glowing in a corner. He saw the same bell-shaped flowers and strange lichen which grew in the swamp around Morthal, snowberries and juniper berries growing in a pot not far from one another. The air was imbedded with sweet and bitter scents, the resulted fragrance almost overwhelming, a weird whistling sound echoing from a plant emitting a bluish-white light. Still, the multitude of colors were pleasing to the eye, relaxing even. He could picture himself spending hours there, reading something or tending to his weapon, even do nothing but talk to Gwen. 

"You poured a lot of love into this." he said, bending down to inhale the scent of a yellow mountain flower. 

"I'm not a big fan of gardening to be honest," she explained, looking for other leaves and petals needing to be removed. "but I love watching the flowers bloom and their scent. And since I'm a sucker for alchemy, growing my own ingredients is a huge help." 

Ornstein nodded, walking further into the basement, looking at the plants. He would have never thought that growing so many plants in a space so small. Artorias did use to have a few pots in his room in which he used to plant whatever new flower he came across in his travels, but nothing that could be compared to this. The knight could almost see his friend gush at all the blossoms here. Ah... 

Grief and nostalgia tugged at his heart as he recalled his friend's face. Though, it's been years, thinking about them hadn't gotten any easier, the guilt and pain still haunting him, whispering in his ears, trying to twist what had happened, making it his fault. He wasn't going to deny it, any of it. He accepted his part in their demises years ago, thus why he was ready to die at the hands of the Chosen Undead, and yet here he was, alive and enjoying himself. He thought that maybe he should finish the deed himself, but each time those demons reared their ugly head, he remembered the promise he made and moved on. He couldn't die, not while that pledge still stood.

"Um, please stay away from that one." 

Gwen's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he found himself staring at a strange plant, the stem colored crimson and covered in spikes. It looked similar to the canis root which grew in two pots away. It emanated an odd, bittersweet scent. Unlike the other flowers in the basement, that one was hardly tended too, left to grow wild in the vase it was in.

"It's called jarrin root." he heard her explain, the sound of her voice accompanied by that of her footsteps getting closer. "It's an extremely poisonous plant. One scratch can have you bedridden for days and Divines save you if you happen to ingest it." she continued, standing next to him. "And if you mix it with Crimson Nirnroot and human organs, you get a poison strong enough to kill a dragon almost instantly."

It took him a few seconds to register what he had heard, and when it did, he stared at her wide eyed.

"What?" the Nord asked.

"Do I...Do I want to know how you acquired that knowledge?" he replied, the worst possible scenarios coming to mind.

He tried to chase them away, but her silence and thoughtful look on her face did not help at all.

"No. I don't think you want." she replied in the end, turning her back on him, ready to walk away when the basement door was opened.

The next thing both of them saw was a dark haired woman throwing her arms around Gwen, the strong scent of cold and salt water emanating from her clothes. 

"Thank the Divines you're alright, you idiot!" she shouted, wrapping her arms tight around her.

"Serana!?" Gwen yelped, completely taken aback, but the shock quickly turned to joy at the realization that her best friend was there. 

She would have hugged her back if the vampire's embrace wasn't so strong. Had she not had been used to it, she would have coughed and gasped for breath. 

"What are you doing here? I'm so glad to see you!" she said, smiling from ear to ear.

Serana let go of her and placed her hands still on her shoulders, the grip still as strong as before, fingers almost digging into the flesh beneath the linen shirt. She seemed completely obvious that there was someone else in the room with them. 

"Gwen," she asked, looking the Nord straight in the eye, "how are you feeling? Is everything ok?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" the Dragonborn replied, her confusion returning once more, this time bringing fear and concern with it. "Did something happen? A-are..." a lump formed in her throat, and she had to swallow it in order to speak again "are they involved?" 

Serana had relaxed by that point, a relieved sigh escaping her lips. She patted her friend on the shoulders and let go of her, stepping back to breathe. 

"Yes. Everything is fine. Sorry for getting all worked up and scaring you." the woman said, hugging her friend again. 

Silence began to settle upon them only to be broken by a cough from somewhere nearby. Serana looked up and only then seemed to notice the man standing in the corner, cheeks flushed red as he tried to muffle another cough. He looked much better compared to last time the vampire had seen him, his skin much rosier, and his overall complexion looked healthier. His crimson hair was much shorter, but now that it no longer had all that weight to pull it down, it began to curl at the edges. 

"Oh! He's still around." she said as she let go of her friend, a bit of disappointment hanging in her voice.

Gwen smiled and lightly elbowed Serana.

"Quit it." she jokingly admonished her, before looking at the knight. "Ornstein, this is Serana, my best friend and the sister I never had. She can be really cheeky most of the time, but underneath all that ice-cold demeanor, she's a really carrying person and you can trust her." the Dragonborn presented the vampire, ignoring the glare she was giving her. 

"As if you're one to talk." Serana commented, rolling her eyes. "Anyway," she continued, shifting her attention back to the man, "nice to meet you. I hope this idiot hadn't given you too much trouble while you were here." she spoke with a sly smile, eyeing the pouting Nord.

Ornstein stared at the woman, her dark, golden irises and red pupils, pale skin and the strange air surrounding her letting him know that she was no ordinary human. If she was human at all. The design on her collar questionable to say the best. It resembled the skull of a demon, eyes looking too real for his liking. Still, Gwen trusted her, and according to her, she had played a part in saving him and thus, he had to be cordial towards her, in spite of the alarms going on in his head. 

"No. Gwen has been nothing but kind towards me. I'm afraid I'm the one who had been causing her trouble during my stay." he replied, not taking his eyes off her. 

"Oh. I see. Well, anyway," Serana began, completely ignoring him, "let's head upstairs. The scent down here is making me dizzy." 

With that, the others agreed, their own senses done with the sickly bittersweet air.

They headed upstairs, Ornstein and Serana heading to the living room, while Gwen stayed in the kitchen to prepare tea. The two sat on the chairs before the burning fire, and while he was staring at the flames, he could feel the woman's gaze linger upon him, tension rising in the air.

"Thank you for saving me." he said, looking at her, an attempt to start a conversation.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" she asked in return, head tilted to the side slightly.

"Gwen told me you helped her saving me back then. For that, you have met eternal gratitude." he explained, bowing his head as he spoke the last sentence.

"Oh, that." Serana sighed, leaning in the backrest of her chair, arms folded over her chest. "Gwen is the only one who deserves your gratitude. I would have let you die were it not for her." 

Ornstein nodded, and looked away, back at the dancing flames in the fireplace. 

"D-did you two go anywhere while you stayed here?" he heard her ask.

"We did go to several places two weeks ago in fact." he answered, her original reaction coming back to him. 

She seemed awfully distressed when she came into the basement, her strange eyes emanating fear and despair and when she hugged Gwen, she held onto her for dear life. She claimed nothing had happened, but he was convinced that was only a lie she said in order not to upset the Dragonborn. 

Even now, he saw her stiff in her seat, hands holding onto the arm of the chair, almost tearing it apart. Her expression, became stern, dread shining in her gaze. She swallowed a lump, before talking again, this time her voice carrying a more wary tone.

"Was...was Morthal among those places?" she inquired, leaning forward.

"Yes. In fact, it was the first place we went to. Why? What happened?" he requested to know, feeling cold shivers run down his spine.

Serana didn't answer right away, covering her face with her hands, whispering "By the Divines" over and over again. He felt the need to go over and try to comfort her and get some answers, but the fear which took hold had rooted him in place. He stared at the hall, praying Gwen wouldn't show up and see her friend that way. 

"W-what happened? Are...are Leah and Helgi alright?" he continued to inquire, unable to hold back the questions. 

"No... They are dead." came Serana's answer, the woman finally uncovering her face to look at him, bloody tears running down her cheeks. "And they believe Gwen is the culprit...I'm afraid the people in Morthal are going to kill her if she sets foot in there ever again."

The shock of the news rendered him speechless. He stared at Serana, his mind trying to make sense of the outrageous accusations. He felt the world spin around him, nausea rushing to him, just like on that day. 

"W-what?! B-but... t-that's..." he tried to speak, but all that came out was gibberish. This was too much! Blaming Gwen? GWEN?! But that was...

"Complete fucking nonsense!" Serana shouted, throwing her hands in the air, only to put them back down and turned in her seat towards the kitchen, scared Gwen might have heard her. 

There was no movement, only a cold breeze coming from the hallways, probably from an opened window somewhere from there. The Dragonborn often opened them and then forgot about them completely. The vampire sighed in relief and fell back into her seat. She tried to wipe the tears away, but only ended up smudging the blood all over her cheeks.

"Gwen mustn't know about this. If she hears about Leah, she'll go straight to Morthal and get herself killed." she continued, with the most serious tone she could muster.

Ornstein stared at her, finally able to speak, but too many things were rushing through his mind, he didn't know which one to pick.

"She has to know." he muttered in the end.

"What? Did you even hear what I said?" Serana hissed her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

"I know, but it would be too cruel to keep it from her. Leah was her friend. She's bound to find out eventually and she'll be much more hurt then." he continued, looking down at the floor, fists clenched.

Three times he lost the people dear to him, even four if he counted that person in, and only of one he was informed. The other two he found by himself, much later. To protect him, lips stayed shut and did not say a thing, but though the intentions were good, the result was the opposite. 

"If she finds out later, and worse, if she finds out that we knew about this and didn't tell her, she will never forgive us." he explained, raising his gaze to meet the woman's. 

At that Serana stayed silent, a bad feeling nestling in the pit of her stomach. She knew what he was saying wasn't wrong, but she also knew what Gwen was capable of when overcome by grief. The Dragonborn was kind, the kindest person the vampire ever had the pleasure of meeting, but beneath all that, lied a terrible, raging storm. 

"And how do you expect to tell her without her losing it?" she asked him, keeping her tone sharp.

Ornstein fell in thought, Gwen's interactions with Leah and Helgi coming back to mind. They seemed close, almost like sisters. They both worried a great deal about each other, and the woman begged him to take care of her. No. There was no way Gwen would take this news lightly., but then again, who could? 

"We can't. She will want to know what happened, as do I." he replied at last.

"That's right! She will want to know, and how will she do that? By going to Morthal! Where everyone wants her dead!" Serana snapped at him, getting up from the chair so fast, she almost knocked it to the floor. "That's why she mustn't know no matter what!"

Ornstein was about to argue back when a voice came from the hallway, making both of them freeze in place.

"What must I not know?" Gwen inquired, holding a tray with three steaming cups of snowberry tea. 

She was staring at her friends, her blue eyes cold as ice. She waited a minute, then two, then five, watching as the two of them exchanged awkward, concerned looks, but the answer never came. Without saying a word, she placed the tray on the desk nearby and stormed out, the others too late to realize what was going on. 

✠♦✠

The wind was cold, a snow storm ready to unleash its anger upon the land below. The cries of horkers and seagulls echoed into the air, along with the words of the ancient shout. 

"WULD NAH KEST!" Gwen screamed, ignoring the pain in her throat which continued to grow and grow, crimson, hot liquid dripping down her chin.

So, the people of Morthal wanted her dead. What was new there? As for the reason, it pained her to do this but she knew Serana well enough to be aware that she won't divulge what happened for fear of what she might do. Tears streamed down her face. She knew her friend was only doing this because she loved and cared for her, but her lack of trust still hurt. 

She had to take a break, heaving and struggling to breathe through the rivulets of blood streaming down her chin. She manage to make it all the way to marsh surrounding Morthal, Serana and Ornstein far behind. She didn't even know where they were anymore. She could recall hearing their voices call out for her when she left Dawnstar, begging her to stay, but she didn't listen. She continued to run and run, using the Whirlwind Sprint to gain an advantage. 

She leaned against a nearby tree, trying to focus on a healing spell to alleviate her injuries. She left on the spur of the moment, no potions or weapons on hand. Unfortunately, it didn't work, her mind too distressed to concentrate. She gave up, letting herself fall back against the hard bark, the snow storm whipping at her face, the cold penetrating her clothes and entering her very bones, causing her to ache and shiver. She got up, arms wrapped around herself in an attempt to keep herself warm, looking around for a place to take shelter in. Fortunately for her, she wasn't far from Ustengrav. She dragged herself towards it, teeth trembling in her mouth. 

The door screeched when she opened it, a grateful smile blooming upon her lips as the warmth of the ruins slowly envelope her, melting away the frozen tears on her cheeks. She walked down the long corridors and stairs, the silence feeling awfully eerie, almost haunting, memories she didn't want to recall rushing back to her. She shook her head, trying to keep them at bay, and began looking around for anything she could use to make a fire with. She found a few logs and set them ablaze with a novice flame spell, letting herself fall on the floor, praising the heavens and Divines as the heat entered her weary bones. 

As the flames danced and ate, beautiful wood turning to charcoal, Gwen brought her knees to her chest, arms folded over them and gaze lost into the void, tears flowing down anew. 

Something had happened in Morthal. Something Serana was convinced will upset Gwen if she happened to find out. She tried to think of what it might be. Had the village been attacked by a Dragon and now the citizens were angry because she hadn't saved them? No. Serana would have told her if that was the case. Did Jorgen change his mind about the piece of the razor and make some story about her stealing it from him? Possible, most likely, but then again, it wasn't something so horrible that she shouldn't be aware of. But then what was it? What had scared her friend so?

" _Serana, Ornstein, what were you planning on hiding from me?_ " she asked as she lied down on the floor, eyelids growing heavy as fatigue caught up to her.

✠♦✠

"Of all the times for a snow storm to start!" Ornstein shouted, vision impaired by the abundance of snowflakes falling from the sky. 

The helmet offered little protection against the blizzard, the cold ignoring the armor and making its way into his very being. 

Serana was not far behind him, looking out for any sign of her friend. 

"Damn that idiot! I think she used the Whirlwind Sprint shout to travel to Morthal." she said, pulling her hood further over her head to block the snow from hitting her in the face.

At least the sun wasn't out.

"What is that?" the knight asked, turning to look at her.

He knew little of shouts or Thu'um. Gwen explained to him that they were words of power used by both dragons and humans alike, though the latter needed years of training in order to master them. 

"It's a shout used to travel distances in a short time to put it simply." Serana explained, cussing at the unleashed tempest. 

"You think she's at Morthal by now then?" Ornstein inquired, feeling dread form in the pit of his stomach.

"No, I seriously doubt it. However, I'm afraid she..." the woman was cut off by an incoming projectile.

Ornstein pulled her out of the way in time, the fireball landing in the ocean, swallowed by the violent waves. 

"What the?!" both yelled turning to look in the direction where it came from.

Before them stood three people cladded in blue robes, and armed with steel maces, eyes trained on the woman. 

"Finally caught up with you, vampire." the one in the middle said, spitting in the snow at Serana's feet.

Ornstein froze, feeling a shiver run down his spine. A vampire? Serana was a vampire? 

He turned to look at the woman, hoping that she would deny this, that it was all a mistake. Vampires fed on humans, according to Gwen and Silus. They were a threat. Then why would she allow one so close to her? And call her sister too? 

"Get out of my way, Vigilants!" the woman hissed instead, two prolonged fangs exposed. "My friend is in danger and I don't have time to deal with low lives like you!"

The three men didn't budge, their eyes wondering from the vampire to the knight by her side. Size aside, eyebrows were raised at the elegant design of his armor, along with the shimmering gold and rubies that were used to make it. The snarling lionide helmet did nothing to sway them from their purpose however. He couldn't have been a thrall, for he wouldn't be wearing such fine armors if he were. Vampires cared little about their slaves after all. Nothing but tools to be used and discarded on a whim. No, he had to be another vampire then. A high ranked one at that. 

"Haven't you heard me!? Move before I'll make you!" Serana screamed again, an ice spell ready in her hand. 

One of the men laughed, stepping closer to the vampire, a mocking smile on his face.

"What's the matter? Is that whore of a Dragonborn in danger? A pity..." he was cut off, a punch from the knight sending him flying.

Everyone was shocked, frozen in place and staring at the giant man, shaking the blood off his gauntlet.

"Sorry. Couldn't help myself." was all he said, before the fight started. 

It didn't last long, much to the duo's relief. The Vigilants were strong, no denying that, but their spells and maces had no effect against either, the knight or the vampire. Ornstein avoided each attack with grace, parrying and following it with his own, while Serana was bombarding them with ice spears and storms, freezing them in place, unable to move and avoid the final blow.

It was a bitter fight for the knight. He despised the man who insulted Gwen, but knowing about vampires and what they were, he couldn't help but feel conflicted. He stared at the blood on his blade, fighting back the nausea creeping up.

"Thanks for backing me up there." he heard Serana say and watched her walk past him, something stirring deep inside. "Now, we have to hurry. We've wasted enough time with them."

"Does Gwen know you're a vampire?" he found himself asking, taking both of them by surprise.

The woman stopped in her tracks and turned to look at him, golden eyes expressing a deep sorrow. 

"Yes. She does. She did from the moment we met." she answered, a sigh leaving her lips, shoulders slumped. "Can we leave this conversation for later? Or do you want us to wait until we find her dead from choking on her own blood?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, face growing pale as a ghost. 

"The shouts. Gwen can't use one more than once at a time. I think it depends on the Thu'um, but I think it takes about thirty minutes between them. If she does, then..." she swallowed a lump before continuing, "it tears apart her throat." 

Ornstein stared at her, unable to believe it. He was about to ask something when the vampire continued, the next bit of information painting reality in the worst possible colors.

"Whirlwind Sprint does take one far, but not by much. If she had used it once every thirty minutes, we would have caught up to her by now."

But they didn't. And Gwen hadn't had any sleep the previous night either. If anyone in Morthal found her...

"My Lord! She is such an idiot!" he shouted, sprinting in the direction of the swamp. 

She wasn't blind to the animosity the villagers felt towards her. No, she was fully aware that they didn't like her, so why in Gwyn's name did she take such a huge risk?!

"Good thing we agree!" Serana yelled behind him as she began to run after him, both praying to make it in time.


	17. Trust and fools

She didn't know when it happened, but Gwen woke up what must have been several hours later, judging from the cold embers laid before her. Her entire body was aching, her stomach rumbling as hunger demanded its turn to be satisfied. She looked around, but there was no food around, only spoiled fruits and vegetables. She decided to get up, ignoring the pain in her guts, and walked over to the main entrance. She could feel the skin on her chin itch, and when she rubbed it, dried blood flaked off, her fingers stained a dark shade of crimson. She sighed, the very act causing her throat to ache, imagining how she must have looked like. She planned to pay a visit to Leah and make sure she and Helgi were ok, but she couldn't do it while half her face was covered in blood. Speaking of it...

"Ah..." she tried to speak, but even the slightest of sounds caused pain to erupt with the fury of a volcano. 

Another coughing fit, another puddle of blood at her feet. 

She fell to her knees, strength draining with each passing minute. Yet, she refused to stay down. Hunger and pain be damned! She's been through much worse before, from gashes left behind by dragon's claws to almost being burned alive on numerous occasions. This was by far a mere inconvenience in comparison. 

She got back up on her feet and went outside, the snow storm finally having stopped. She walked over to the shore, kneeling by the river and was ready to wash her face clean, when she heard a well known voice in the distance, the very sound of it causing her to freeze in place.

"Why are there so many gigantic insects here?!" Ornstein shouted, followed by the dying screams of a chaurus. 

"These bastards better not have laid a finger on Gwen! If that idiot is going to get hurt by someone, it's going to be me!" came Serana's reply.

The Dragonborn tried not to roll her eyes at that statement. Instead, she quickly got up, abandoning any plans to wash herself. They were the last people she wanted to see at that moment, not only because she was still mad at their attempt to hide things from her, but also due to shame at her own actions. Running away was not the best way to deal with it, she knew that much, but her emotions got the best of her at that time. Still, that wasn't an excuse. 

She barely got back on her feet and was ready to leave, when she heard the most dreaded sentence at that time.

"And where exactly do you think you're going?" Ornstein asked, hands on his sides, glaring at her through the eye sockets of his helmet.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused us?" Serana chimed in, arms folded over her chest, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

They both waited for a reply, the weight of their stares enough to burry her several meters underground. Without a word, Gwen turned around on her heel and jumped into the stream, the air filled with shouts and yells, "idiot!" echoing all the way to the heavens. 

Yeah, now she was way over her head in trouble!

✠♦✠

"I've never met a more idiotic, reckless person in my entire life! What in the god's name were you thinking?!" Ornstein shouted, pacing around the bonfire, hands thrown in the air, the sound of his steps and crackling of the fire filling the large cavern. 

With her knees pulled up to her chest, face hidden in them, refusing to look up at either him or Serana, who was standing by her side, still glaring at her, Gwen only listened to his rant, too mad to say anything back. 

After they fished her out of the stream, not without a considerable amount of struggle, they returned to Ustengrav to take shelter and treat the Dragonborn's injuries. Easier said than done.

The Nord refused to say or even look at them during the time, curling up in a ball and doing her best to ignore them. Which considering the circumstances of her predicament, was not the best course of action. 

"I swear, children are more mature than you." the knight sighed, fatigue overcoming him. 

Concern and dread had been burned so violently within him on the way to the swamp that now, after letting out the last of his frustration, he felt... tired, empty. He couldn't wrap his mind around what happened, each attempt resulting in failure, especially the last bit.

"Why in the world did you jump in the lake when you saw us?" he asked, turning to look at the silver-haired woman. 

She didn't look at him, still sulking like a child, Serana's cape draped over her shoulders. Water still dripped from the tips of her hair, her body shivering slightly. Both he and the vampire were staring at her, gazed digging into her, looking for answers, but she kept them locked up, neither allowed to take even a peak. Dear Gwyn! Why did she have to be so difficult?

"Gwen," Serana began, gently placing a hand on the Nord's shoulder, "I'm sorry that I tried to keep a secret from you, but..."

She was cut off, when the Dragonborn slapped her hand away, the woman finally looking at her, blue eyes filled with tears. She tried to speak, but all that cam out were rough noises followed by couching fits, beads of blood staining her surroundings. Both the knight and vampire rushed to her side, but neither was able to help. Ornstein knew a few healing miracles, but he didn't have his talisman on him and thus couldn't use them. Serana didn't know any restoring spells, having never been able to grasp it, not to mention the lack of a good mentor. Potions were out of the questions as well as nobody thought to get any before they departed. When the coughing fit stopped, Serana and Ornstein helped Gwen lie on the ground near the fire, her pale visage worrying both of them. They both pondered on getting her back to Dawnstar, where Erandur could look after her, but once again, her stubbornness took them by surprise, when she tried once again to talk, another coughing fit ensuing.

"Gwen, stop it already! You're only going to make it worse!" Serana scolded her, but her words fell on deaf ears.

"I-I...gr..*cough* be-gr-been...*cough*...worse." the Nord spoke through choughs and ragged breaths, blood flowing down her chin once again.

The vampire threw her hands in the air, mumbling something about stubbornness and idiocy. Ornstein couldn't help but agree with whatever she was saying, staring at the Dragonborn, trying to understand where all that obstinacy came from. He knew humans to be head strong, annoyingly so, but this degree was too much. Not even his lord was this persistent about something! 

"Gwen, please, we beg you. Calm down. You're not doing anyone any favor by pushing yourself so much." he tried to plead with her.

She tried to speak, but changed her mind, thank Heavens!, and instead dipped her finger in the blood still fresh on the floor and began to write what she intended to say. 

Both Ornstein and Serana waited for her to finish, trying to ignore the grotesque aspect of it.

"What happened in Morthal?" Gwen inquired, watching closely as both of them immediately looked away, avoiding her gaze.

Did they seriously think she had forgotten about it? Or hoped she did? She stared at them, face serious, more serious than any of them had ever seen her. 

Finally, Serana caved in, a long sigh escaping her lips.

"Ornstein, go and stay guard at the door." she nudged the knight, as she sat down, next to Gwen, head held low, her mind looking for the words to say.

"Why?" he asked, just as confused as the Nord was.

"Someone needs to stop her in case she decides to make a run for it." the vampire replied, still looking down.

The knight stood still for a second before he slowly nodded and went to do as told, whishing her good luck on the way to the door.

Gwen watched him go, a million questions rushing through her head, fear beginning to flood her veins. She knew the situation was bad, but now, cold sweat was dripping down her back, a chill shaking her to the very core. She looked at Serana, blue eyes filled with dread, a lump forming in her aching throat. 

The vampire didn't say anything for a while, and for a moment, she pondered on saying nothing at all. Nothing actually stopped her and Ornstein from picking her up and taking her back to Morskom...but as much as she loathed to admit it, he was right. Gwen was bound to find out eventually, and it would be much worse then.

By Molag Bal, why did things have to happen this way!?

"Se... *cough*..."

The vampire looked up to see her friend have another coughing fit, her heart breaking at the sight. She place a hand on her shoulder, blood tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"Leah and Helgi are dead." she said, the words leaving a horrible taste in her mouth. 

She watched as the Nord stopped from coughing, the look in her eyes being a mix of disbelief, confusion, denial. Serana wished she could stop there, but that was not an option. She had to keep going. No turning back.

"It was a fire." she looked away from her friend, to the shadows playing on the wall, vision flooded with crimson. "I don't know how it happened, but apparently, it took place very late at night. They...they couldn't be saved."

Silence was heavy for a few seconds before sharp sobs began to cut through it. Physical pain had been forgotten, grief clutching her heart, taring it apart, piece by piece. The Dragonborn was crying in the vampire's arms, the entire world shattering around her. A part of her screamed that this was a sick joke, that it couldn't be true, but another part knew that it was true. However, that didn't make it any easier. 

" _Why? For the love of Talos, why?!_ " she yelled in her thoughts, begging the Divines for an answer. 

From where he stood, Ornstein listened to her cries, each one tearing him apart. He understood her pain all too well, for it had tormented him greatly for many years. He leaned against the wall near the door, looking down at the floor, the memories of those days rushing back to him, despite his efforts to keep them out.

On the day he learned of Artorias' death, he felt his whole world turn black as night. He tried to be strong for Ciaran, but the assassin closed herself to the world. Despite their best efforts, they couldn't find as much as a hairs of hers in the city, let alone the castle. Needless to say, her absence only worsened his state. Countless nights had he spend in his bed, crying himself to sleep, blaming himself for his best friend's demise. During the day, he couldn't sit still. His office walls felt like a cage, one which constantly closed in on him, stripping him of air and strength. Yet, he refused to give in, burring himself in work to the point where he fainted from fatigue. Staying there was hard, but being alone, unoccupied was much worse.

Lord Gwyn tried to get him to take a few days off, but he refused. His mind gave him nothing but nightmares. He saw Artorias everywhere, his smile, his kind eyes, heard his laughter, felt his ghost linger in the gardens and the training grounds. On any other occasion, the Dragon Slayer would have been glad, but knowing that those were mere illusions, it only served to wound him, kick him further down. 

Why didn't he send reinforcements? Why did he send Artorias alone? He should have known the severity of the situation and that it was more than even their best knight could handle. He tried to convince himself that it was his faith in his friend and his ideal to blame. Artorias had fought against the Abyss for so long, Ornstein saw none better for the job back then. To destroy the very core of that wretched darkness, to rid the land of its existence once and for all. Who could be more deserving of such an honor than the Wolf Knight? 

Back then, choosing Artorias was the best choice. Back then, sending others to tag along seemed more like an obstacle.

Back then...none could phantom the tragedy, the astonishing defeat that the best knight in the entire world would suffer...

Alas, it happened and he couldn't turn back time, despite the desperate wish burning inside him to do so. After the funeral, he attempted to move on. He searched for Ciaran, her absence during the service making him worry, a bad feeling nesting in the pit of his stomach. Days passed without anyone seeing even her shadow, dread taking over the Captain's mind and heart.

After weeks of fruitless searches, her whereabouts were finally discovered, and when Ornstein went to see her, the world came crashing upon him once again. 

"Are you alright?" 

He snapped out of his thoughts, feeling something cold and wet trail down his face. Ah! He though he ran out of them long ago.

"I'm...fine." he answered, grateful that his helmet hid his visage. "How is Gwen?" 

"Said she wanted to be alone so she went to the waterfall." Serana answered with a long sigh.

"Are you sure it's ok to leave her unsupervised?" Ornstein asked, leaning forward to look at the empty spot where the Nord and vampire once stood.

"She might be an idiot, Ornstein, but not to that degree." Serana replied, seeming almost amused.

"Grief can do horrible things to people." the knight said in return, the image of the assassin lying on the ground in a crimson pool surrounding her flashing before his eyes.

The vampire didn't say anything for a short while, her gaze fixated on the candles flickering nearby. She inhaled deeply, and when she exhaled, the sadness in her could almost be seen, like breath turning to mist in the cold wind.

"Gwen," she began, her voice low, almost a whisper, "she is strong. Stronger than even she realizes. She'll be...she'll be alright."

"How can you be so sure?" Ornstein asked, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to chase away the thoughts of Ciaran.

"Because she promised" Serana answered, the edges of her mouth curling up into a smile. "She promised Fjorn that no matter what, she will live. She will be fine." 

Ornstein tried not to snort at her words. Artorias promised him the same thing, that he will be fine, that he will come back... and he never did. Gough gave him his word that as soon as Kalameet would be defeated, made plans about how to spend his last retirement days... but he never did. He... he made so many promises Ornstein had lost count of them, most were childish dreams both knew could never come true and so it was. Among them, there was one which the knight treasured above all else, the simplest of them, and it had been broken as well.

The Dragon Slayer wanted to trust Gwen, to trust this promise she made, but he knew better. Powerful sorrow, unexpected events, hidden doubts and desires, forces none could oppose were enough to turn what was meant as truth into a lie. He meant to believe in her, but experience taught him that trust was a fool's weapon, one that could cut deep, too deep. 

✠♦✠

She crouched down, eyes stinging from the tears, mind still a wreck, but not because of the pain. Something didn't add up about this mess, no matter how much she tried to find logic in the sad tale.

Serana told her she learned about Leah and Helgi only the night before through Ronthil who was sent to the swamp to gather some chaurus venom for Feran. According to him, as he passed through Morthal, hoping to buy the dreaded substance instead of having to hunt for it, he overheard the people making plans about how to kill the Dragonborn should she ever show her face around. He saw a burned down house, something about it rubbing him the wrong way. That along with the plans of the villagers to murder Gwen prompted him to ask a guard about what was going on. Thus he learned about the fire, about the allegations, about the people's desire for revenge and strangest of them all, the fact that Hroggar, Leah's husband had taken another lover while the ash of his family were still warm. 

At that, Gwen saw nothing but red. She trusted Hroggar, considered him a dear friend, and saw how much he cared about his wife and daughter. He adored them and did his best to offer them a good life, despite what little they had. There wasn't a day when he wouldn't bring them something, be it flowers picked from the swamp, or sweets from the tavern. This betrayal did not suit him in any way! She refused to accept that he had so easily forgotten his family for another! No! There had to be something else to this tragic tale and she was going to find out no matter what!

But how was she going to do that? Before, though they hated her, none actually dared take action against her. She could come and go, but never stay for too long. Now, when history seemed to repeat itself, she was sure that they wouldn't just stand around and allow her to even step foot near the place. Perhaps an invisibility potion would help? But they took too long to make and she didn't have the patience for it. A spell? She knew of one, but she hardly mastered it.

She placed her head in her hands, trying to find a solution, when she heard footsteps behind her.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." Ornstein whispered, watching as she turned around to face him. "My apologies for my pestering. I was just worried." he explained, doing a deep reverie. 

Gwen tried to speak, only to be reminded that she couldn't when the muscles in her throat began to ache. Fortunately, this time there was no coughing fit.

"Please don't force yourself." he went to try and help her, cussing his own uselessness. If only he had his talisman, he could help ease her pain.

She looked up to him and game him a kind smile, her mouth moving to mimic a sincere "Thank you". What for? He could barely help her at all. For Lord Gwyn's sake! He used to lead armies in wars and yet he couldn't even aid a single woman! When did he fall so low?

"Come on." he found himself saying, the silence being too suffocating. "We shall return to Dawnstar for now, to get your wounds treated." he added, feeling her turn stiff at the mention of leaving. "Once you're healed, we shall return and figure out what is happening here." he assured her, meaning every single word.

It wasn't only Gwen's reputation at stake here. The whole situation seemed awfully suspicious and he couldn't, in good conscience, let it be. 

At that, she relaxed once more, and followed him up the steep path to the ruins, tripping a few times on the way, her fatigue making itself clear. Ornstein couldn't bear to see her like that and after the fifth time she tripped and almost fell back down into the chasm below, he bend down and picked her up princess style. She was too tired to protest or react, her cheeks gaining a tint too pale too be seen. She closed her eyes and let her head rest on his chest as he carried her away, the coldness of his armor soothing her burning skin. Before she knew it, sleep had overcome her and she was deep within its embrace. 

✠♦✠

"Gwen? Gwen, honey wake up."

A light shake made the child open her eyes, rays of sunlight flooding her vision. She was lying in her mentor's arms, the scent of dirt and flowers emanating from her skin and clothing. 

"Morning sunshine." Fjorn greeted the girl, a wide smile blooming on her lips. 

"Morning master." Gwen returned the greeting to the woman, eyelashes flickering as her sight was accustoming to the daylight. "Where are we?" she asked, looking around at the plain marsh surrounding them.

"We are in Drajkmyr Marsh, my dear." Fjorn answered, setting the little girl down, letting her walk on her own, tiny hand held gingerly in her own. She didn't the young one to run off again and fall into the numerous ponds through the marsh. She had a rather frail health as it was and they didn't have enough medicine to have to treat whatever disease she could catch.

"Why are we here?" Gwen continued with the questioning, her gaze flying from one plant to the other, blue, pink and white delighting her vision. Had it not been for her mentor's hold, she would have sprung to the bell-shaped flowers, gather a large bouquet in her arms and inhale their scent deeply.

"Those flowers are poisonous." Fjorn warned the girl, holding back a chuckle. She was used to the little one's antics to know what to expect. 

"But they are pretty." Gwen argued with a pout.

"Even if they are pretty, they are still poisonous." the woman replied, feeling the child try to slide into her blind side. Seriously, 4 year old's could be so exhausting sometimes. 

She sighed as she continued to walk through the swamp, dragging the little one behind her. Night was drawing closer and they were in need of shelter. Morthal was still a long way from them, but even if they managed to make it there, would the people allow them to stay? She tried not to think about it, the child walking by her side being awfully perceptive when it came to her. She looked away, her gaze passing over a shadow moving in the tall grass. Th figure was too far for her to see what it actually was, but she prepared a fire spell just in case. She didn't want to be taken by surprise should it have been a troll or worse, a chaurus. Thankfully, whatever it was decided to leave them alone and fading from view. The woman sighed in relief, glad that she wouldn't have to fight in the presence of the little one.

"Fjorn? Are you alright?"

The Nord looked down, the blue eyes of the child sparkling with concern. 

"I'm fine, my dear." Fjorn replied, trying to put on a smile. "Now, let's go. We spend enough time here." she continued, quickening her pace.

Something didn't feel right, an ugly sensation nesting in the pit of her stomach. Silently, she prayed her to Azura for things to be alright. 

If only she knew the tragedy about to happen.


	18. Nightmare

"Shor's bones! What happened?" Brina asked, walking over to the giant knight carrying a feverish Dragonborn, Horik close behind as always.

"It's a long story." Ornstein replied, looking down at Gwen, the redness of her skin and the beds of sweat rolling down her brow making him worry.

It was a blessing that the trip back had been uneventful without any predator trying to attack them. However, as the night fell, the air had gotten colder and the Nord's state seemed to only get worse with each passing moment. When Dawnstar came in sight, both he and Serana were relieved. 

Brina stared at the Dragonborn, concern written all over her face. Unlike the Jarl, she understood how dangerous the return of the dragons truly was and if the old legends were true, than she was their only hope. To have something happen to her could have been a catastrophe. Who knew when the next Dragonborn would come around? They couldn't risk it. 

Her eyes passed over the figure next to the knight, resting only for a minute on the woman's face before looking away. She had seen her countess times in the company of the Dragonborn and while she had always been helpful and never caused trouble, there was just something about her which made Brina want to be on her guard. To say she didn't trust her wasn't that far fetched of a statement. Still she kept her opinions to herself as she wasn't acquainted enough with the Dragonborn to be able to tell her what to do and whom she should befriend. As long as that woman didn't cause any trouble in Dawnstar, she had no reason to raise her sword against her even though, every fiber in her being screamed that she should.

"Erandur is at Frida's alchemy shop right now. I could ask him to lend you a hand if you want." Brina proposed, looking in the direction of the said shop.

"That will be very helpful. Thank you very much." he accepted, grateful that the Dark Elf was already in town. 

He knew a few things about treating injuries, but Gwen's were far beyond anything he could aid with. Serana wasn't good with healing magic nor taking care for the sick either. Thus, they were both at a loss on what to do. 

After Brina left to inform Erandur, the trio made their way to Morskom Estate, the knight sighing in relief when a wave of warm air enveloped him the moment they set foot in. While he carried Gwen to the bedroom, Serana headed to the lab to look for some potions that could help, though she didn't think giving an already tired woman concoctions that would exhaust her even more was a good idea. She found nothing all curing potions having either gone stale or a result of an odd experiment of the Nord judging by the weird coloration and small notes attached to the vials. Cussing, she left the laboratory behind and went to check on Gwen. There wasn't much she could do, much to her disappointment, but she wanted to be by her friend's side and provide whatever little comfort she could give her.

As she climbed the stairs leading to the second floor where the master bedroom was, she began to hear a soft tune echoing through the halls, a voice she did not recognize singing an unknown melody. Slowly, she creeped up the stairs, eyes out for whoever could be the source. She approached the bedroom door, opening slightly, to peer inside, the sight welcoming her eyes, making her almost drop her jaw.

Sitting by Gwen's side, the Nord lost deep into the embrace of slumber, holding her hand into his own with his thumb caressing her palm, Ornstein sang to the Dragonborn, a song not even the ancient vampire could name. Still, it wasn't bad, not at all. He had a surprisingly soothing voice, one that rivaled even that of the greatest bards in Skyrim. Surely, if those at the College heard him, he wouldn't be able to ever get away from them. The song wasn't bad either. It was a lullaby, from what she could tell for the words were in a language she couldn't understand, nor could recall ever hearing, so foreign it was. The vampire sat down slowly, back leaning against the wall, listening to the melody as dreams danced before her closed eyelids. 

✠♦✠

Her fever only seemed to be getting worse and he cussed his own helplessness. If only he hadn't lost his talisman, he could aid her, but alas, without it, he couldn't use any of the miracles he learned and it frustrated him to no end. 

Another tossing, another turn, a whimper escaped her lips, a tear began to run down her cheek. Whatever nightmare she had, she couldn't be pulled out of it, each attempt being met with another cry and more tears. Not knowing what else to do, Ornstein took a seat on the side of the bed, gently grabbed one of her hands and began to sing, an old tune he thought long forgotten, making its way out of his memories. He's done that more times than he ever cared to count, when the Prince wouldn't sleep due to some nightmare or something, and he'd come to him, looking for comfort. The lullaby was written by a fellow knight, back during the days of the Dragon War, when tomorrow was not guaranteed and everyone yearned for a way to escape the harsh reality staring at them in the face from the moment they opened their eyes in the morning till the on they lied their heads on the pillow again. Ornstein still remembered the nights when some of them would gather round a bonfire, warm drinks in hand, their voice like a chorus rising all the way to the moon. If anyone happened to have a lute, it was all the better, even if they couldn't actually play it. For all the stress and dread which accompanied those days, there were some beautiful moments in there too, moments which he wouldn't give up for anything. 

The lullaby had the desired effect, the Nord calming down as the melody progressed, no more whimpers escaping her lips. Her fingers gently wrapped around his, squeezing it weakly. He smiled, continuing to sing, emotions he hadn't felt in far too long, pouring into every word rolling off his tongue. He was back at the palace, back at the campfire, rocking a restless child to sleep, singing away the concerns of his brothers in arms.

A loud noise from outside torn the magic asunder, pulled Ornstein and, unbeknownst to him, Serana, back to reality. 

"Ornstein?! Are you there? I brought Erandur!"

The knight sighed with relief hearing Brina having finally arrived. He let go of Gwen's hand and headed downstairs to welcome them in. He hadn't noticed at all the odd shadow lingering outside by the door, nor the snickering hanging in the air behind him. When he was out of sight, the spell wore off and where previously was nothing, now stood Serana, a wide smile plastered on her face. Oh! She was so going to enjoy her time here!

✠♦✠

"I don't even know where to begin thanking you, Brina, Horik." Ornstein began, bringing cups of snowberry tea for everyone.

He was keeping them company while upstairs, Serana was helping Erandur with Gwen's treatment. Though not very experienced, out of the two of them, the vampire was much well-versed the healing spells of this world and what had to be done even though she couldn't practice it herself. 

"Don't worry about it, Ornstein. These are hard times we're going through and we must look after each other." the woman answered, gratefully taking one of the cups from him, the warmth from the tea extremely soothing. 

The knight only nodded, his gaze traveling to the stairs leading upstairs. Through he knew the Dragonborn was on good hands, he still couldn't help but worry. What if something went wrong? What if she had some other injury none of them had noticed and now it was too late to do anything about it? 

"Something wrong?" Horik asked, and it was then Ornstein realized that he was gripping his cup so hard, the material was about to give in to the pressure.

"My apologies... I'm just..." he began, but his mind was blank and he couldn't find the words to explain what he felt nor why.

Fortunately, Brina seemed to easily catch on on his state, the corners of her smile curling into a soft smile.

"Ornstein, she's going to be alright. Trust me." the formal Legionnaire assured him, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to comfort him. "That child is stronger than you think." 

Was she though?

"Thank you, Brina. I appreciate it." he replied, but kept his gaze on the stairs, mind constantly locked in that room where the Dragonborn lied unconscious, battling whatever horrors dared plague her.

The woman stared at the knight for a minute before letting out a sigh. His body language betrayed his worries and it would have been a lie to say that she didn't understand them. She understood them all too well, more than she would have ever wished to. And she knew that no matter what happened, how much time passed, they would never go away, and keep festering like an untreated wound. 

She left him to his thoughts and went to the window, staring out at the falling snowflakes outside, adding another layer to the eternally white-covered town. It was as though the weather was determined to keep Dawnstar underneath a spell of drowsiness. Perhaps the Divines took a particular interest in this little corner of Skyrim where nothing ever seemed to happen apart from the occasional dragon attack which so far, thankfully, had been few and far between. There had been that nightmare problem a few months ago, but now it was only a faded memory, one that few even talked about anymore, almost as if it never happened. Everything passed, swallowed in the golden ale and white snow. Brina couldn't complain about it, for this was what she searched for when she looked for a place to spend her retirement. But will this last once the war actually started? What was going on now was not the real thing, only a stupid game, each side pocking at the other, testing the terrain, waiting for something. Once the real fight started, what would happen to this town? And... what would happen to Gwen? 

It was no secret, to her at least, that both parties wanted her on their side. Nords cared about traditions, the old legends holding great power within their hearts and having a great hero like the Dragonborn fight for either of them was bound to gain that party's favor with the people. Gwen's only saving grace was the ongoing dragon menace which spared her the pressure of having to pick a side just yet but that wouldn't last. Rumors circle around, tensions were growing high day by day. Skyrim was weakening, the Empire was weakening and meanwhile the Thalmor were dancing around with joy, seeing their hated enemies fight among themselves like fools. By the Divines, what has the world come to?

"Everything alright?" Horik asked her.

He was standing by her side, concern dancing in the darkness of his eyes, causing the woman to smile. What would she ever do without him?

"Yes. Just thinking about stuff that's all." she replied, turning from the window to look at the knight who was now pacing around the hallway, hands behind his back and head held low. 

It brought a sense of glee to see someone care so much for Gwen, given what she knew of the young lad's life. With a past such as hers, finding companionship in Skyrim was a hard thing to do, a great shame given her sweet nature and kindness. Thus, Brina was glad that there were people who cared about her. 

Finally, Serana came down the stairs, a relaxed expression upon her face. The moment she stepped into the room, everyone's eyes were on her, waiting for whatever news she had to give. 

"She's going to be fine." the vampire spoke, watching relief wash over everyone, her gaze lingering a bit more upon Ornstein, mischief sparkling behind her golden irises. "She needs some rest, but Erandur said she will be up and good in a few days." she continued, a smile gracing her features.

"What about her throat injury?" the knight asked, keeping his voice calm despite his troubled state.

"Erandur took care of it. She won't be able to speak for a while, but her injuries at least we don't have to worry about finding her chocking on her own blood." 

"Thank you, Serana. Could have done without the grotesque image." Ornstein replied, blinking a few times to get the picture out of his mind.

The vampire shrugged and went to the kitchen to get herself some more tea, ignoring both Brina and Horik.

"See? I told you she's going to be fine." the old Legionnaire said, a wide smile on her face. 

The knight nodded and went to put some more logs on the fire, his body more relaxed than before, though his gaze still held some tension. Brina sighed and shook her head. Seriously, men were exhausting sometimes.

✠♦✠

Stars and moons shone bright on the dark sky, cries of the cicada and the critters of the night echoing through the swamp, and in the distance, the dark shadow screamed, the monster was out for the hunt. 

She ran, ignoring the puddles, struggling to swim from one piece of land to the next, ignoring the chilling cold seeping through her soaked clothing and gnawing at her flesh. Tears blurred her vision, her breathing was ragged, the fire in her lungs becoming stronger with each mouthful of air she inhaled. Screaming didn't help, her voice refusing to come out regardless of how much she tried. Another dead end, another plunge into the water, but something was wrong, liquid which used to be soft and cold, now warm and sticky, a strong, metallic scent rising from it an filling her nostrils, making her gag and want to vomit. Each stroke took more strength than the previous one, something from below trying to pull her down, drag her to her grave. Yet, she dared not stop nor slow down, the glimpses of a scarlet dress fluttering in the wind, always in her sight, beckoning her to keep going. 

So close, she was so close...just a bit further, just a bit more... Flames began to engulf her surroundings, shadows of trees turning into dreadful torches, the stench of smoke and flesh infecting the air. One more struggle, one more attempt, muscles were being torn, blood began to fill her mouth, the pain was almost unbearable and still...

"Fjorn!" she screamed, the name echoing through the night, and for a minute all stood silent. 

There were no more monsters, no more burning swamp, no more need to run. For a minute, there were only the two of them, pupil and master, staring at each other, the little girl staring at the back she knew so well, covered in scars left behind by a life of hardship and struggle. She couldn't talk anymore, blood chocking her at each attempt, the pain grasping her throat, torn muscles screaming in protest. All she could do was stare, cry, hope, prey though for what exactly she didn't know. Too many things were running through her mind, questions fighting amongst themselves for which one to be first. 

They continued to stay like that, soft whimpers beginning to escape the child's lips. She cared not for answers anymore and yearned for nothing but to be held, hugged, have her men-no, her mother tell her that everything would be alright, that they will make it through this trial as well. Alas, the silence continued to stretch on and Fjorn's back remained turned to her, cold as stone. No warmth, no hugs. She didn't like that, a dark feeling beginning to smolder within her. She forced herself to speak again, fighting back the blood rushing back into her mouth. Her senses began telling her to run, get away from that place, yet she was rooted in place, unable to move.

"F...jo...n" she said, tears which stopped for a minute, now flowing down like waterdrops on a strong rainy day.

Finally, the woman seemed to realize that she was there, and slowly, painfully slowly, began to turn around to face the child. Through blurred vision, she saw the visage she so loved come into view, the smile which always managed to bring her comfort failing to do so now, dark rivulets of blood dripping down from her lips, sparkling in the chaotic light cast by the flames. Brown eyes which were usually filled with kindness, now held a sadness within them, one that tore the little one's heart. What happened? Why?

Fjorn opened her mouth, tears beginning to run down her cheeks as well, a dark shadow manifesting behind her, the blade of a dagger shining as it was placed against the woman's throat.

"I'm sorry..."

✠♦✠

She snapped her eyes open, jumping out of her bed, hands reached out towards nothing. In her haste, she got her foot tangled in the blankets and she ended up falling face front on the floor with a loud, unceremonious thud. With a groan, she got back up and rubbed her nose, the ache and heat slowly going away. She looked around, her brain taking a few moments to process what had happened. She remembered being carried back to Dawnstar by Ornstein and Serana, a headache settling in on the way as the cold, the fatigue and her injuries began to take their tool. Her memory turned into a big blur, pictures blending into each other creating an incomprehensible mess. After a few minutes, she gave up, leaning against the bed, an exhausted sigh leaving her lips.

She didn't feel like getting back into bed, dreading the possibility of having to relive that horrendous nightmare. She stood in complete silence, the room poorly illuminated by a candle on the nightstand and the smoldering embers in the fireplace. It felt a bit odd to be in her bedroom after so many weeks spent sleeping in the basement, having come here only to pick up some clothes now and then, though the majority of them were already downstairs. Even the air was somewhat foreign, lacking the scent of winter with which she was so accustomed to. Now, it was warmer, even the scent of the flowers being more powerful. It was... really pleasant.

Suddenly, a loud growl resonate through the air, her stomach demanding nutrition. With a sigh, she got up and made her way to the door, light flooding her vision as soon as she stepped outside. Shielding her eyes with one hand, she continued on her way, keeping an ear out for the others. As she approached the living room, she heard loud crashed and thus coming from the laboratory and without a second thought, rushed to see what had happened, worried for whoever might be in there. As soon as she reached the door, she heard Serana cussing and hissing from inside, followed by another crash.

Without thinking, Gwen slammed the door open, ready to jump to her friend's aid.

"..." she tried to speak but no sound came out, only a slight ache passing through her throat, thankfully nothing like what she experienced before in Ustengrav.

However, it was enough to get the vampire's attention.

"Gwen? How come you're awake?" she asked, surprised to see her friend in the same room as her. At her feet lied shards of what once were glass vials, a strange liquid staining the floor, no doubt, a result from the concoctions mixing together. A foul odor was filling the room, and the Dragonborn rushed to open the window. 

Behind her, the vampire ran to get a bucket of water and some rags to clean the mess, the stench getting to her as well. The Nord waited for her, surveying the damage, hunger all, but forgotten at that point. Things looked to be ok, apart from a few potions missing, but she could do without them. Speaking of wolves... she bend down and opened a small cabinet in the corner of the working desk, inside being a few flasks colored black by the poison they contained. She took one out and placed it in her pocket, before closing the desk again. She prayed she wouldn't have to use it, but if things came to what she feared they would, then Divines have mercy on whoever would get to experience the horrors that poison had to offer.

When Serana returned, Gwen tried to help her, but the vampire wouldn't have it. She had the Dragonborn stay on the side as she cleaned of the mess, looking at her whenever a question was asked. 

"How are you feeling?" she asked, eyes locked on her even as her hands scrubbed the stinking puddle off the floor.

Gwen made a so-and-so gesture with her hand, her gaze darting over the room once more. That place could really use some dusting. How come she hadn't noticed before?

"Hm. Hoped for better but I suppose given what you've been through, I should be glad you're able to stand on your own feet already." the vampire commented. "That darned Ornstein was so worried about you, I had to kick him out. I couldn't stand having him pace around the living room anymore. How on Nirn can you put up with him?"

The Dragonborn pitied the knight. To be kicked out into the cold simply for worrying about someone seemed too cruel, but doing so wasn't out of character for the undead woman. Much to other's chagrin. The Nord went to the scrolls cabinet and took a blank parchment, a quill, and began to write something. When, she was done, she handed the paper to Serana, the vampire taking it with curiosity. 

"I'm glad to see you two are getting along." Serana read, a scoff escaping her lips at the end. "That's what you call getting along?" she asked, handing the Dragonborn the parchment back and waited for the answer.

When she received it back, she busted out laughing at the reply.

"If you didn't like him, we'd be hiding his body by now." she read, tears of joy gathering at the corners of her eyes. "True." she admitted.

Difference in size aside, she trusted her abilities to best him. She was a Vampire Lord after all, a pure-blooded Daughter of Coldharbour. Who could stand against her? Even Gwen, who defeated her father, had a hard time standing her ground against her when they trained and she was the hero of legend, the Dragonborn, savior of the world. If even she had a hard time, then a stranger was no match for her. 

She looked down at the floor as she gave Gwen the parchment back, a satisfied grin blooming on her lips at the sight of the clean floor. She tried to get up, when a sudden dizziness came over her, her knees growing weak, and she was felt the world spin around her. Quickly, she grabbed the counter for support, eyes squeezed shut as she waited for the faintness to go away, a string of swears filling her mind. She could feel the Nord by her side, her gaze filled with concern washing over her like a waterfall, struggling to ask what was wrong. 

" _Damn it all to Oblivion!_ " Serana cussed. She didn't expect for it to happen again so soon, and that it took place in front of Gwen, of all people, as well. So much for her wanting to keep her condition hidden. 

Suddenly, her nose picked the familiar, intoxicatingly sweet scent of blood, a magnificent fragrance which could belong to only one person. Hesitantly, she turned around, her greatest fears coming true. With a cup underneath her wrist, Gwen had made a small cut on her arm, hot, crimson liquid dripping down snow-white skin, like thin rivulets, the very sight making the vampire salivate, a reflex which Serana hated with all her being. Such were the burdens of a vampire, be it lord or not. 

Serana looked away, feeling the beast scream inside her, her throat aching from the thirst. 

"You shouldn't have done that." she hissed, keeping her eyes averted, unable to bear looking at the Nord's smile, her gaze always filled with understanding and kindness. 

No answer came, as expected, only the soft sound of a cup being placed near the vampire, followed by the echoes of steps getting farther away and a door closing, leaving Serana all alone, but the scent still lingered in the air. The undead woman kept her stare averted from the drink, shame burning underneath her skin. She should have hunted for someone before Gwen woke up, or at least get some blood potions from Feran before she left the castle. To have her already sick friend wound herself for her sake...

Sometimes, being a vampire really sucked.

✠♦✠

A ruin within a ruin. That was how Erandur had described the Nightcaller Temple once and the words couldn't be more fitting. Outside, there was a large cemetery, crudely made graves lined in many rows and covered with stones, bowls of incense burning at the head of each of them, the scent warding off the unwanted pests. The interior was none the better, hanging moss growing on the ceiling, tapestries lying burned on the walls, destroyed furniture covered in dust. The statues with the carvings of the Daedric Prince, Vaermina, only added to the creepiness. There was nothing really out of ordinary about it, but for some reason, being in its mere presence made Ornstein feel as if he was watched. Why would anyone worship a Daedra? The knight couldn't wrap his head around it.

He kept his on the steaming cup of tea in his hands, trying to recall what little he knew . He heard from Brina about a battle which took place there once. She didn't know the details, as nobody dared come and investigate, too afraid of the cult within. What they knew was thanks to some poor traveler who happened to pass by a group of orcs planning loudly on how to take vengeance against the Daedric Prince of Dreams. Whether they were successful or not, nobody knew, but judging by the state of the building, Ornstein thought they were. Why was Erandur living in that gods-forsaken place? Did he feel pity for the poor souls of the cultists who fell in battle defending the place?

"Thank you once more for helping me with the ice wraiths outside." Erandur said, drawing the knight's attention to him.

They were drinking snowberry tea, sitting at a small table inside the Dunmer's room, a small chamber adorned with potted plants, mostly medicinal herbs, a shrine to Mara resting on a drawer in the back, next to the bed. Compared to the rest of the tower, the section leading up to it were not in such a bad of a condition, being in a more secluded area, one rather hard to find if one was not well acquainted with the layout of the ruin. It had little furniture apart from the necessary items, and a few shelves to stack books which had been salvaged from the burned down library. 

"It was the least I could do after you helped us treat Gwen. And for willing to put up with me." Ornstein replied, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. 

To think Serana would kick him out. Seriously?! For crying out loud! He thought better of the woman, after seeing how much she cared for the the Dragonborn, but then she went and kicked him out which he found completely exaggerated. Were all the women that reckless? He was lucky Erandur offered to let his rest at his place until the vampire came to her senses. Taking on a few ice wraiths for him was nothing in comparison to all the help he had given them, especially now.

The Dark Elf's aid couldn't have come at a better time. Needless to say, he was rather taken aback when he saw the extent of Gwen's injuries. Brina had told him that she seemed to have a bad fever, and when he saw her, she was burning so strongly, she could even rival a chimney. He did his best nonetheless, thankful for the knowledge he had acknowledged during his long, long life. He had spent many years learning about the art of healing, not only through magic, but through the use of plants and medicine as well for man and mer. 

"Don't mention it." the Dark Elf said, getting up to refill his cup of tea. "But if it isn't too much to ask," he continued as he returned, "what happened?"

Ornstein opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it immediately, looking away at some potted plants nearby. He didn't know how to explain it, he, himself, having a hard time understanding the intention behind Gwen's actions. What could have gotten into her to run away back then? No matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't wrap his head around it. It seemed too extreme. Did it have something to do with what happened in the past? He dared not ask, but curiosity was killing him now and he felt like if he wanted to be of any help, he had to know. 

Hesitantly, he looked up at Erandur and took a deep breath before voicing the question which had plagued him all day.

"Forgive my intrusion, Erandur. I know you're not the person to ask this of, but could you enlighten me on a certain matter?" 

"If it is within my knowledge to do so, I'd be more than glad to." the Dark Elf agreed, a wave of concern washing over him.

"Has Gwen ever told you what happened in Morthal? Why the residents there seem to hate her so?" he asked, guilt washing over him as soon as the question left his lips. He should be asking the Dragonborn this, not someone else. But for some reason, he doubted she'd tell him anything, which only strengthened his remorse. Perhaps, he should have let it be, but it was too late now to turn back.

The Dunmer stayed silent for a minute, obviously pondering on the answer. 

"You are right. I'm not the one to answer you this question." he spoke after a while, and the knight felt the soft scold in his words, his face turning a slight shade of red. "But," the Dark Elf continued, lowering his eyes, gaze lost in the swirling of the tea in between his hands, "I am acquainted well enough Gwen well enough to know that she's a woman who prefers to carry her burdens by herself even when they are too much."

"Is she that prideful?" Ornstein asked, feeling the urge to slap himself as soon as he asked. 

"Prideful? Not at all. Though..." Erandur answered, his expression becoming sadder as he continued. "I wish that was the case if only to spare her the trauma." 

"Trauma?" the knight inquired, a bad feeling brooding in the pit of his stomach.

Erandur let out a long, heavy sight. 

"This story is Gwen's to tell, indeed, and normally I would respect that, but allow me to make an exception this time, and share with you what she can not." 

"If it's too hard for you, you don't have too." the knight interfered, ashamed that he had caused the priest so much distress.

"No. You have to know, especially if the current situation she is going through has anything to do with those events." 

"I'm...I'm afraid it does." Ornstein spoke, taking a deep breath before he continued. "Leah and her daughter, Helgi, had died in a fire about a few weeks ago and the residents of Morthal are blaming her for it."

Erandur closed his eyes and breathed a few times, before opening them again, irises glistering with unshed tears.

"I see. I'm saddened by the loss."

"Did you know of them?" 

"I knew Leah in person, actually. I spend a few days in Morthal before I moved to Dawnstar. She was very cordial to me during my stay. It is from her, I found out what happened. The truth of the rumored Bloody Witch." 

"Bloody Witch?" Ornstein asked, raising a brow at the name.

"Fjorn. That was how the people of Morthal had named her. The whole incident became known as "The Night of the Bloody Witch" even outside the hold, though it is not as popular."

"Leah said it was all a misunderstanding. That none of it is true." Ornstein commented, recalling the woman's words from their first and last meeting.

"Hm. In a way. It is true that Fjorn killed the man, but she did not do it for the reasons everyone thinks she did." Erandur spoke, taking a sip of the tea growing cold.

"What do you mean? What happened?"

The Dark Elf stared at the pale crimson liquid in his mug, vision blurred with even more tears.

"They believed Fjorn had murdered the man as a sacrifice to the Daedra Prince she served." he said, a lone tear rolling down his cheeks.

"Why did she do it then?" Ornstein asked, almost forgetting how to breathe.

"To save her child."


End file.
